Haymitch's Love: The Untold Story
by KattyHunger
Summary: After 25 years, Haymitch sees for the first time his family's interview from the 50th Games. He then reveals to Katniss a heartbreaking tale of what his life was once like. Mockingjay briefly mentions 'his girl', but who was she? This is his story.
1. Prologue

**Haymitch: Prologue**

Haymitch stumbles back to his compartment, a tankard held loosely in his hand, sloshing over the shiny mahogany floors. His head pounds painfully and the unfocused world spins without end. But despite this, he continues to pour down the liquor, enjoying the searing sensation in his throat. Once in the solitude of his room, he promptly vomits over the fancy rug, soaking the rich velvet in a noxious brown fluid. He chuckles to himself, picturing Effie's reaction to the mess._  
><em>

Haymitch chugs the last of his drink. Once sure that not a droplet is left, he allows the glass to fall to the hardwood with a clang, shattering to pieces amongst the vomit. Then he drops down to his knees, content to lie on the floor for the entire night. Walking over to the bed seems like an extremely large effort at the moment. His cheek falls against the hardwood, landing with a splat in the warm liquid.

'What are you doing to yourself, Haymitch?'

The soft voice rings out into the silence just as he is about to close his eyes and leave consciousness.

He lifts his head and inch and is not surprised to stare into her youthful grey eyes. She looks exactly the same as she did the last time he saw her. Pale and small, her frock tattered and cheeks hollow. She fingers the necklace he had given her over twenty-five years ago. Her expression displays utter disappointment.

'I didn't mean to upset you,' he says, a single tear running down his unshaven cheek.

She shakes her head and bites down on her lip, piercing him with a stare that causes shame to flare. Her eyes look not at him, but _into _him, searching for his soul, examining his darkest secrets. He knows that he can hide nothing from this girl.

She takes soft, unfaltering steps towards him and crouches down beside the heap that his once burly body has become. As she approaches, the scent of fresh pine quickly overwhelms the stench of liquor. Her thin lips spread to a kind smile and she extends her hand. He eagerly reaches out his own calloused fingers, desperate to feel her gentle touch. He wants nothing more than to have one last chance to to keep her safe.

'I'm sorry,' he whispers. And just as he is about to take the angel's hand, an unsought voice penetrates the moment.

'Who are you talking to, Haymitch?'

And that is all it takes. His love hastily disappears into thin air, leaving less than a trace of herself behind.

It is as if someone has just punctured the bubble Haymitch has momentarily been living in. He shifts his gaze and sees the boy -_Peeta, _he thinks the name is- standing in the doorway, a curious look on his face. Completely unaware of what he has just interrupted, Peeta stoops next to him and begins to clear up the mess.

Haymitch shuts his eyes, his hammering headache returning, and allows Peeta to scrub him, wanting more than anything to die. To live in the world of his true love. No matter, perhaps if he drinks enough tomorrow she'll return…


	2. Katniss: The Interview

**Katniss: The Interview**

The tape of the Quarter Quell finally ends and Haymitch rises to press the off button when, to my surprise, the Capitol logo is abruptly shown while the anthem blares from the speakers. That 's odd. As a Victor, you only get interviewed twice; once before and after the games. Haymitch seems to realize this too; curiosity gets the better of us so we sit back down to watch. The training center appears and Caesar Flickerman, sporting a sparkly, egg yolk colored suit along with his hair and eyebrows dyed a painfully bright mauve, strides onto the stage bearing his overly toothy- more fang like- grin.

'Ladies and gentlemen,' he bellows cheerfully, basking in the applause. 'Welcome and good evening! I'm sure that you are all very excited to hear the tributes' families finally speak out! Tonight will definitely not be disappointing!'

Oh, so that's what this is. I had forgotten how the Capitol interviews each of the tributes' family and friends once the Games reach the final eight. I make a mental note to watch the interview with my mother and Prim. I look over at Haymitch, and see his mouth hanging open in utter shock; he has never mentioned his family to me before. As Caesar lulls the audience to ease with some opening jokes, I suddenly realize that this is a majorly personal moment for Haymitch. Should I give him some privavcy?

The two of us sit in stone cold silence as the interviews commence, each one more painful to watch than the next. Families speak of how they love their sons and daughters, sporting a faith that I can't help but pity. I'm eager to see what Haymitch's family was like but keep my mouth shut, because by the looks of him, he's never seen this tape before either. I silently wonder what happened to his folks and old friends, but feel slightly sick at the thought; what could President Snow have done to them to make Haymitch the way he is?

My ears perk as a familiar name is mentioned.

'Please welcome the family of... _Maysilee Donner!'_

Maysilee Donner? As in my mother's friend? As in the girl whom Haymitch made an alliance with? My suspicions are confirmed when a magnified photo of the girl I watched die just moments ago wavers in the background as a small family teeters onto the stage. There are two girls, both around Maysilee's age. One with a resemblance forcing me to believe to be her twin, the other looking strangely like -

My mother? I just can't believe my eyes. Haymitch's jaw is clenched throughout this interview. He was the one who was by Maysilee's side during the last moments of her life, was the one who held her hand as she died. I can't help but think of the resemblances to myself and Rue.

Finally, District Twelve is announced for the second time, and the vibes in this room suddenly become much more than their previous tenseness. Butterflies are fluttering in my stomach and I think of fleeing the room before the interview begins. If I thought that merely watching the Quell was an intrusion of Haymitch's privacy, then what would I consider this?

'And now…' Caesar begins. 'Please give a warm welcome to Angress and Melmar Abernathy, the mother and brother of Haymitch Abernathy, from District Twelve.'

The audience goes ecstatic as the tiny family meekly walks on to the stage. Angress is holding on tightly to the little boy's hand, looking extremely apprehensive. Both are rather pale and thin, sporting the same shining, blond hair. Melmar, who must be about thirteen, is wearing an overlarge pair of glasses and simple brown suit. As I watch the little boy, I am forced to think of my own young sibling, Prim. Honestly, he could be the male version of her. Perhaps Haymitch and I share more in common than I thought? His mother, Angress, is looking slightly haggard, dressed in a patched up, emerald frock. They sit down and Caeser flashes his fangs at them.

'So, let's get straight down to business here!' he begins cheerfully. 'How did you feel Melmar when your brother was chosen to be a tribute?'

The little boy looks completely taken off guard at being asked a direct question by Caesar, and turns expectantly to his mother for help.

'We felt…' she beings. Her voice is soft and comforting, so unlike Haymitch's.

'…lonely. Haymitch is the one who takes care of us and without him, we're both lost. Right now, I just miss him so much! Sometimes without even thinking I call his name or go looking for him, thinking he's still here. Every day I say good morning and goodnight to the picture of him on my bedside table.' She speaks in a quiet tone, almost a whisper, but I know that the audience has caught every word of what she has said.

'I'm sure he misses you too'. Caesar comments solemnly.

'I miss him the most'. Melmar pipes up, speaking in a sudden rush; he has finally found the courage to speak out. He adjusts his glasses and sits up straighter.

'But the thing is…I'm not sad or worried…because I know Haymitch is gonna win! He's gonna do whatever it takes because he's not a quitter…he's a fighter!'

'Well said,' says Ceasar, grinning once again.

The rest of the interview must be heart wrenching for Haymitch, but it's as if a spell has been cast. Neither of us can speak or move; for some reason, we're just compelled to do nothing but watch. At this moment, it would be impossible to advert my eyes from the screen. It's a strange sensation seeing his family talking and sitting up there fidgeting. But if only they knew… If only they knew what would soon happen to them... My insides twist unpleasantly. Perhaps Haymitch shared the same bond with his brother as I do with Prim?

'Now, we've almost run out of time, but if you could tell Haymitch anything right now, what would you say?'

'I would tell him that I love him and think he can accomplish anything in the world…' says Angress without hesitation.

Caesar smiles just as the buzzer goes off. 'Well, that's all the time we have but may the odds be ever in your son's favor.'

They nod and smile, then awkwardly stumble off the stage hand in bony hand while the tumultuous applause roars throughout the center. I allow a sigh to escape my lips, relieved that this tape is finally over. And I am so close. So close to turning it off, freeing myself from the horrors of Haymitch's life when -

'And now, I would like to introduce a very special friend of Haymitch's…'

And for a wild moment, I think of spontaneously flicking the 'off' switch, shutting out whatever is to come, wanting to relieve myself and Haymitch from these terrible memories.

My jaw drops as a young girl, about sixteen, walks on to the stage. In my opinion, she silently screams, _seam._ Her jagged hair is short and tinted a greyish brown, and just above her hollow cheeks is a pair of overlarge, brilliantly sea-green eyes, darting all around the room, as if planning an escape. A tattered black dress with auburn polka dots is fitted around her slim figure, complimenting her in all the right places. Haymitch looks completely taken aback at unexpectedly seeing his girlfriend from twenty-five years ago.

There is no doubt that she's beautiful, but yet, she appears older than she's supposed to be. Maybe from stress or worrying, she looks as if she hasn't slept for days. No amount of makeup could conceal the purple bags plastered under her wide eyes. She clomps over to Ceaser in five inch heels, arms glued to her sides, and sits down precariously on the plush love seat, repeatedly pulling down the hemline of her dress.

I sneak a glance at Haymitch, wanting more badly than ever to run from the room and hide because his expression is so frightening. His head is tilted to one side, eyes are wide while staring, memorizing every bit of that girl. He bites down on his lower lip, brow furrowed in concentration. So is this it? His forgotten love? The unmentionable girl? I doubt he even remembers that I am sitting right next to him.

'Why hello there…' Caesar's eyes dart to a cue card, '…Nemit.'

'Hello…' she says back quietly. Her voice is not unlike Haymitch's mother's. Soft... comforting... making you feel as if nothing bad could ever happen. But even so, there's a weird edge in it that I just can't put my finger on. Is it fear? Loss? Anxiety? She fidgets with a single pink jewel attached to a silver chain that I didn't notice her wearing before.

'You're looking nervous… Relax a bit! Don't be so tense!' Caesar smiles in what I think is supposed to be a comforting manner and pats her on the arm.

She winces at his touch. 'I'm sorry…it's just that…it doesn't feel right, not watching the Games. If something happens... I need to know right away.'

Caesar's expression turns grim. 'I can see that you love Haymitch very much.'

There's a pause while she finds her words. Finally she decides on a humble, 'Yes... I do.'

Although it's not much, her words are still effective. The audience lets out an overly sappy sigh, just like the time Peeta confessed his love to me.

'Indeed…' says Caesar. 'Tell us what was going through your mind the last time you saw him.'

'I was feeling…well...I don't think I knew what to feel. Nothing was going through my mind expect shock.' She swallows and bites down on her lower lip, just like Haymitch is doing right now. 'The last time I saw him…we kissed…and I told him to promise me one thing…' her voice becomes less and less audible with every word.

Ceasar arches his eyebrows and leans forward. '…And what was that?'

'…to stay alive,' she whispers.

The audience is completely transfixed, and I must admit, while romance isn't my thing, so am I. But my mind just can't comprehend it all. I mean, _t__his_ is Haymitch's girl? She's nothing like him, or at least the Haymitch I know.

'I'm sure he's doing everything he can to keep that promise.' Caesar answers softly.

The buzzer goes up, jolting me -as well as the entire audience- from the strange trance this girl has put us in. She seems relieved for the interview to be over, but before she can hurry away, Caeser announces something that makes me, Haymitch, and Nemit turn a sickly green.

'Nemit, have you forgotten?' He laughs,exposing his pointed pearly whites. 'You promised us that you would sing a little song!'

Nemit just stands there, fixating her eyes to look down at those black heels, while turning over the pink jewel. After a moment, she looks up, her expression completely blank.

'…Alright.'

Caeser presses a button on his wrist watch and immediately the furniture falls though the stage floor. He hides behind a large curtain and Nemit walks shakily to the centre of the stage and stops directly behind a microphone on a slim stand. The lights dim except for a blinding spotlight that illuminates and enhances every one of her delicate features. She takes a deep breath.

'This is a song that was written hundreds of years ago. And it just shows that, back then, people still felt the same way as we do now. Even though it was written in ancient times…it still describes exactly the way I feel right now…'

She shuts her eyes and bites down on her lip again, as soft and slow, instrumental music begins to play. Most of the audience gets up from their seats; couples begin to slow dance. The music appears to bring in a calm and soothing atmosphere. Nemit takes a deep breath and grabs on to the pink jewel as she begins to sing.

Whether she is nervous or not, was forced by President Snow, or requested to sing on her own, I can't tell; all I can think about is that voice. As soon as she lets out the first note, the audience ceases all actions and stares up in awe. All the couples stop dancing dead in their tracks. Her voice is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard in my entire life. It is pure and natural and could only be compared to that of a mockingjay. She sings so effortlessly, the dramatic change from her speaking voice astonishes me.

The shy, quiet girl from the interview has vanished, being replaced with someone completely new and confident. She sings clearly, opening her mouth as wide as possible to pronounce every word to the best of her ability. Her head is held high while she sways slightly on the spot, rosy colour rising in her cheeks. The song is slow and sad, speaking of nothing else but heartbreak. It tells of a girl who is upset that her boyfriend left, though she thinks she should be happy because this leaves her with less chores to do. There is a dramatic crescendo; her voice growing louder, faster and more intense, forcing the entire audience go into a kind of trance. They are all transfixed with the powerful music this tiny girl is making.

I break free of her spell when I hear an unrelated sniffling coming from my left and turn to see Haymitch, his eyes swollen and red. _Oh no_, I am so alarmed by this I merely pretend not to notice. Haymitch… I have never seen him like this before; he is completely falling apart, and I have to admit, just thinking about him in this state disturbs me. The music slowly becomes softer and Nemit finishes on a long high note. Finally the music comes to an end and she lets out a curt 'thanks' and walks off the stage to a wild crowd possessed by utter jubilee. Evidently, they loved her. Then abruptly, without even a 'good-night' from Ceaser Flickerman, the anthem plays and the logo is shown… The screen goes blank.

I don't know what I was expecting from Haymitch, perhaps an explanation of some sort, or maybe even a bonding moment. I guess I shouldn't be so shocked, but all he does is grope on the floor for his bottle and then slowly raises it to his lips; he takes a swig, slouches farther into his chair, his eyes unwavering from the exact spot where Nemit last appeared on that screen. I have so many questions, so many things to say, but I know that now is not the right moment. I try to imagine everybody I love dead: Prim, my mother, Gale, Peeta… I cringe at the thought. I guess I now know why Haymitch is an alcoholic; I wouldn't have been able to cope with it either.

Suddenly, as if obeying orders, I rise from my seat and leave the room, surprised that I wasn't glued to the chair. I walk robotically to Haymitch's compartment, push the door open and start digging through the mess, trying to find as many full liquor bottles as possible. I go over to the bedside table, hoping to find his secret stash, pull open the top drawer and search through the jumble of contents. Broken glass, dirty dishes, loose buttons, and… a plain white envelope with something small and hard inside. I know that he would be furious with my snooping, but as the moment urges me forward, I can't help myself from spontaneously opening the flap and pouring its contents into my hand. Out falls a silver chain with a single pink jewel attached to it. I turn the necklace in my hand and notice that the jewel is engraved on the back. '_Forever Yours'_, it reads. I gingerly place it back in the envelope and walk out the door, my arms overflowing with drinks.

When I arrive back to the movie room, Haymitch is still there, staring at the screen, his beer bottle empty, arm flopping off the chair. I place all of the containers of alcohol on the table between us and sink back down in my seat, my head suddenly throbbing painfully and swarming with new and disturbing thoughts. He grunts his thanks at the assortment of drinks and we both reach for a bottle. The two of us drink through the silence, slowly making our way through the pile. Finally, Haymitch speaks.

'Katniss...' he begins hoarsely.

After what we just watched, I'm surprised he even remembers my name. I look over at him expectantly and watch his face slowly grow old.

'Get comfortable and I'll tell you the story...'

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><p><strong>The song that I totally picture Nemit singing is called 'One Less Bell to Answer' by Fifth Dimension. Any other suggestions?<strong>


	3. Haymitch: Love At First Sight

**Haymitch: Love At First Sight**

The day Haymitch had first met her is still fresh in his mind. It was in September, on one of the very last days of summer when he was just eleven years old. The sun was pounding down from high overhead and the air was balmy, complete with a lazy breeze. Every September on unusually warm days like that, his mother would send him under the fence that separated District Twelve from the forest to pick apples. Doing this of course, is illegal, but apples are such a rare treat in the District that Haymitch just couldn't refuse the job.

He made his way over to the meadow where most of the weak spots in the fence were and listened carefully to hear the hum that indicated if the electricity was turned on; like most days, it wasn't. He then cautiously slid on his belly underneath the metal wires and, once he was inside the forest, ran deep into the trees, concealing himself completely from the rest of District Twelve. With a basket to carry apples and a knife for protection, he slowly made his way to the field of apple trees, which was not too far from the fence. Once there, he could breathe again; he no longer had to worry about being caught, at least at that moment.

He climbed the trees with ease, enjoying the greenery, dropping apples into the bucket, fantasizing of the sweet sauce his mother would soon make with the delectable fruits. He went about his task in silence and only stopped to enjoy the warm breeze ruffling his hair, the merry buzzing of insects, or cheerful chirping of mockingjays that surrounded him. But something was different. Somewhere in the distance floated back something strange. It was singing. The mockingjays sound had turned into something that he heard only a human could have taught them. He recognized the eerie tune as something his mother had sang to him when he was a small child.

Intrigued by the voice, he jumped from his tree and, using the mockingjays' voices as guides, flew through bushes towards the source of the sound. Finally, he seemed to see what, or rather who, was the creator. The mockingjays had led him to a pond where a skinny girl, about his age, swam, singing with a beautiful voice that would suit a much older woman.

_'The moon is bright, the wind is unheard,_

_The night calls out words of comfort.'_

Indeed, she sounded magical; he could definitely listen to her all day. He stood there transfixed, concealed by the trees, watching the girl in awe for as long as he dared. As she sang, she frolicked and slpashed in the water, basking in the sun, running her fingers through her hair.

'_The sun comes up, the rooster cries,_

_Don't tremble or stir, just close your eyes'. _

He did not know how it happened, but all of a sudden, he had tripped to the ground and his hiding spot among the leaves was no more. The girl's head snapped up at the sound of breaking branches and she let out a spontaneous scream. They were both forbidden to be here, but maybe this was her special spot, perhaps she came to swim and relax here often. Her eyes wide, she swiftly sunk back down to her chin in water and stared at him in disbelief.

Scrambling clumsily up from the ground, Haymitch stuttered and stumbled on his words.

'Sorry, I- I… didn't hope to d-d-isturb you, but-'

She merely looked at him with her eyebrows raised.

He took a deep breath. 'What's your name?' he finally asked.

She eyed him suspiciously and ever so slightly lifted her head out of the water. 'You first...'

'Haymitch,' he answered. 'Haymitch Abernathy.'

'Alright, _Haymitch_,' she emphasized his name as if to poke fun. 'Turn around while I get out.'

He was confused until he noticed a pile of raggedy clothes on the ground; the girl was naked. He turned to face the surrounding forest and dropped down to the ground, crossing his legs. Behind his back, the girl shot him annoyed looks as she hastily pulled on her clothes.

'You never told me your name,' he said suddenly.

She walked over to him wearing a pair of mud-stained shorts and a baggy, hole infested shirt. An absence of shoes exposed completely bare, dirt caked feet.

'My name,' she said. '…is Nemit Danrose.' She stuck out a bony hand to pull him up from the ground.

He looked curiously at the girl. Her face seemed familiar, and now that he could see her up close he realized that she was a girl from his school, in his grade. Despite just being in the water, there was dirt smeared on her cheeks and her fingernails were filthy. He eagerly grabbed her hand anyway.

'So what are you doing here in the woods, Haymitch? Don't you know that it's illegal?' She taunted.

'Picking apples for my family is a step up from what _you're _here doing!' He snapped, without really thinking.

'If you must know, I was trying to get a few hours away from the stupid old woman at the home!' She shot back angrily.

The home? Did she mean the community home? That's the place where abused children go, the ones who have no family to take care of them. He looked down at his feet in embarrassment.

'Sorry,' he said quickly.

'It's fine,' she replied in a hard voice.

She stared him straight in the face for quite some time, as if trying to decide if she liked him or not.

Abruptly, Nemit took his hand and lead him towards the pond and the two sat, dipping their feet through the cool water for what seemed to be hours. As the glowing sun slowly fell further and further into the sky, the two were content to sit silently. The silence between them was not awkward; on the contrary, Haymitch thought it to be a nice change for some company. Finally, deciding his initial task should be finished, he asked if she wanted to finish apple picking with him.

'Alright,' she agreed. 'I've never tasted an apple before.'

Together they left the pond and ventured out to the field. When they got there, she gleefully climbed one of the tallest trees as if she were a squirrel and belted out a song for all of the mockingjays to hear. Once again, Haymitch was stunned by that voice. The children laughed and played in a way he hardly ever got to; he barely had any friends at school. When the evening mist had begun to arise, he told her that he should be on his way home before dark.

'Oh,' was all she said. But before he turned to leave she decided to ask one more question. 'Meet me here tomorrow?'

Taken aback, he managed to get out a perplexed 'sure'.

She grinned widely from ear to ear and unexpectedly leaned forward, pecking him softly on the cheek.

'Thanks Haymitch.'

And before he had time to react, Nemit swiftly turned away and, despite having no shoes, ran through the trees like a gazelle, leaving him completely dumbfounded, the scent of honeysuckle still wavering around him, stronger than ever. He slowly pressed a finger to his cheek, to the spot where the feel of her lips was still fresh.

* * *

><p><strong>This chapter is often criticized for being a too cliche, with the whole 'singing in the woods thing'. Haha. Sorry about that, I just couldn't help myself! bleh!<strong>


	4. Haymitch: The First Time

**Haymitch: The First Time**

Haymitch sits in the dark, moonlit room staring directly at the unlocked door, waiting nervously for the girl who would soon walk through. It is 11:30 pm; most of the District is fast asleep, but the last thing he wants to do right now is go to bed, at least not alone. He anxiously counts the minutes till her arrival in his head. 19…20…21... She has never been this late before, but then again, perhaps she is having her doubts about this. 24…25… What's keeping her? Maybe the community home caught her sneaking out? Haymitch makes wilder and wilder assumptions as the minutes slowly pass.

Of course, her tardiness could all come down to the reaping, because, even though she tries to hide it every year, the Hunger Games scare her. But it's not her family that she worries about; they are the reason that she's in the drab community home. She expresses a lack of fear even for herself, claiming to hate her life, saying that she would welcome her name being called. At least, that's what she has said up until about a year ago. For almost her whole life, she has been starving for love and attention from people who have never cared. But that all changed when she met Haymitch. He sees her for who she really is and doesn't judge her for her murky past. When they had met five years ago, they instantly clicked, becoming inseparable best friends. But as they both got older, their feelings for each other changed, and the friendly love they had felt since age eleven turned stronger and more passionate, bringing them closer together than ever before. Haymitch is the only person in the world who she loves; the only person who she can be herself around. More importantly, he is the only person who actually loves her in return. If his name was called during the reaping, she would then once more have nobody.

But he isn't sure of his feelings for the Games. Of course they are wrong, just another way for the Capitol to keep charge, but unlike her, he has a family to look after, more people to worry about; it is not as easy to treat the Games in the same manner as she does. Haymitch has absolutely no idea who is father is, though his mother has spoken most highly of him, but because of the man's absence in his life, it is Haymitch who is the breadwinner of a family that needs him desperately. His mother is a hard worker, although her occupation - cleaning houses - can only bring in so much money. Plus he has his younger brother, Melmar, to worry about. Haymitch promised himself that he will do all he can to keep Mel from taking tesserae.

Nemit just doesn't understand when he denies her requests to run away together; his family needs him. Needless to say, he thinks constantly of telling her to come live with him and his family, but he knows that that would never work out.

Firstly, because his mother despises her. Even though she is from the Seam just like them, his mother feels that community home children are rotten, the way they come from abusive homes, families that can no longer take care of them. He remembers how he weakly tried to explain to her that she is not a bad person, on the contrary, she's amazing, but his mother's opinion won't budge. Furthermore, she truly believes that Haymitch's love for Nemit is merely a phase and is not to be taken seriously. To her, Nemit is just a 'waste of time'.

Secondly, because he knows she would never accept his offer. Although she wants to be with him constantly, she also has a certain need for independence. He admires her for this.

58…59…12:00am… 'Happy Hunger Games…' Haymitch murmurs to himself.

At that moment, the door knob rattles and a dopey grin that he only wears in her presence stretches across his face. The door creaks open and he sees her silhouette in the frame. Nemit, his one true love, creeps through the room, moonlight shining on her prominent and delicate features, looking lovely in a tattered, short black dress with auburn polka dots; the only dress she owns. Her short, mousy hair is tousled, and she looks slightly annoyed -and rather disheveled- as she leans in to kiss him.

'Sorry I'm late…' she breathes into his ear.

He closes his eyes and inhales her scent - a mixture of honeysuckle and sweet pine needles - with much pleasure. She does not explain the reason for her delay and he does not ask, most likely it is the usual excuse; the old hag who runs the community home sticking her nose into their business.

She takes him by the hand and leads him over to where his bed, stuffed of straw, sits. They had chosen today, the day of the reaping, their one year anniversary, to do this. It will be the first time for both of them. Haymitch's heart bangs like a steel drum and his breathing becomes shallow as Nemit slowly sways closer. Her pale green eyes are wider than ever as they stare directly into his own bright, grey ones, as if searching for his soul. Obeying the moment, they press their lips together and kiss like they have never kissed before. A feeling of warmth rapidly spreads through his body as he wraps one arm around her waist, pressing her body against his own, and tangles the other in her hair. She raisers her arms and wraps them tightly around his neck. He never wants to let go…and it seems like he never does. They stand there, lips moving in time with each other, kissing for what feels like years. Finally, they are both enchanted by each other's spells and the rest of the night is a dream…


	5. Nemit: Friends?

**Nemit: Friends?**

Nemit wakes up from a chilly draft blowing on her bare, exposed legs. Her body from the knees up is bundled in at least four different wooly quilts, sewn by the witch -Ms. Abernathy, she corrects herself-. A quiescent Haymitch has his arms heavily wrapped around her, adding to the warmth. She rises gingerly from her place, careful not to disturb him, and reaches over his body to shut the open window. Judging by the light outside, it is about five a.m.

A silver chain with a pink jewel attached dangles from her neck to rest on her bare chest. The jewel had been her grandmother's; the only semi valuable possession she now owns, she had been told by the home. But she disregards the many urges to sell it; the necklace is worth much more to Nemit than money. Besides being the only remaining possession from her family that she has, the sentimental value also reaches out to Haymitch. On her fifteenth birthday Haymitch had surprised her by turning the jewel into a necklace so she could keep it close to her at all times. He had also engraved it with the words '_Forever Yours'_. She is now never seen without it.

Nemit looks over at Haymitch's peaceful figure and takes in the image of the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Suddenly, she can't help but remember what this day could possibly bring. It had been nice, waking up and forgetting that today is the reaping, creating the illusion that it was just another day in which she could spend all her time with him._ But it isn't, so there's no point in harping on it_, she thinks bitterly to herself.

She stares at Haymitch, feeling sick at the thought of his name being called. Compared to some of the eighteen year olds she knows back at the home, yes, the odds are in his favor, but anybody could be called, right? Plus, this is the year of the Quarter Quell, she remembers in alarm. Twice the amount of people will be called!

She tries her best to stop thinking about the reaping, but knows that this nagging feeling will only leave her completely at the end of the day, once she is positive Haymitch will be safe. She sighs and plops back down onto the pillow, snuggling closer to him in the mesh of blankets. No point in waking him up now and disturbing his passive dreams, bringing him back to cold, cruel reality.

After a painful hour of tossing and turning, Haymitch finally stirs. He yawns, scrunching his face and stretching out his arms, then looks Nemit straight in the face, giving her his classic smirk that always leads her to presume he knows something that she doesn't. Perhaps this early in the morning the effect is not so great by the cause of his drowsiness, but nonetheless, she returns his smile.

'Sleep well?' she asks.

'Better than usual.' He bounces his eyebrows humorously. 'Know what time it is?'

'Probably around six thirty,' she replies, yawning herself.

'Then we should get going now; don't want to be here when my mom and Mel come home, right?'

'Definitely not,' she agrees.

She reluctantly rolls out of bed and hastily collects her things -mostly clothes- from the floor, aware of Haymitch's eyes on her. She shrugs them on and walks over to a basket of food she had brought during the night: crunchy, red apples, a loaf of fluffy baker's bread and two brown hens' eggs. She had acquired these items with great difficulty the day before; only people with money eat like that every day. While Haymitch dresses, she hastily slices the bread and apples and cooks the eggs on the old, single burner. They bring their meal outside and sit on the tiny porch's steps, eating in silence, not wanting to ruin the satisfying tastes. _Food, glorious, food_, thinks Nemit. What it must be like to be rich and eat like royalty all the time! If she had money, she would definitely be fat. She supposes this is the one good thing about reaping day; the poor are permitted to indulge in such fine dishes.

When they are almost done eating, Nemit's recently acquired good mood vanishes when she spots two figures briskly walking in their direction. She nudges Haymitch and he looks up from his plate, fried egg dangling from his chin.

'Don't worry, I'll handle her.' He mutters, getting to his feet and wiping his face.

She rolls her eyes. Haymitch says this every time they encounter his mother, but he always ends up at the woman's mercy, giving in to her nasty remarks and threats. There has never been a time when he has actually stood up to her.

The woman clumsily walks up the path to her home, clutching several packages in her left arm, and a young boy's hand in the other.

'Morning, mother.' Haymitch greets the old bat casually.

'Hi, Haymitch,' she says distractedly. 'You wouldn't believe the line-ups at the Hob yesterday, Elita was kind enough to take us in for the night and he gave us- '

She looks up and abruptly stops speaking, spotting Nemit.

'Mother,' begins Haymitch in a warning voice.

Angress takes a deep breath, and closes her eyes. Despite being about thirty something, her face is creased with premature wrinkles and her nut brown hair is streaked with gray. Nemit has seen old photos of her; it is hard to believe that that once beautiful, youthful woman had turned into this.

She swiftly hurries past the two of them as if they did not exist and the boy follows, shooting them a curious look.

'Well, that was an improvement.' Nemit laughs. 'At least she looked at me for once.'

Haymitch remains silent. Of course he does not take the situation in a lighthearted manner, and even Nemit knows that he is in the worst position possible; torn between girlfriend and mother. She takes his hand and tries to cut him some slack as they walk towards nothing in particular.

Strolling down the road, enjoy the crisp morning air and the sun shining on their faces, the day is once again feeling calm and carefree, but Nemit recognizes the disguise; the Capitol always ensures that reaping days have beautiful weather, tricking people into believing that it really should be a celebrated holiday.

They quicken their pace, talking to none of the few passersby. Nemit has lived in the Seam her entire life, but even so, she is barely acquainted with anybody; nobody wants to be friends with a girl from the home. When people at school see her, they usually just stare and whisper hurriedly behind their hands, but she doesn't mind. She likes keeping to herself and, after all, she has Haymitch to talk to. He's a bit like her in that regard, shy and quiet, but she guesses that most people think of him as more of the 'strong and silent type'…at least most of the girls do.

People have always thought Nemit to be strange, but she's noticed that the whispering and dirty looks have increased dramatically ever since it became known to people that she and Haymitch are an item. The girls are the worst though; rolling their envious eyes when they see the two together, whispering to each other and then purposely giggling as loud as possible. Then, yearning with lust, they move onto Haymitch, flirting with him to the best of their abilities. It's no surprise either. With his sharp, grey eyes, dark hair, and extremely robust physique, Haymitch is one of the best looking and most wanted boys in the grade. Those girls are probably praying for Nemit's name to be called at the reaping today.

Incidentally, the two now spot a young female, sprinting towards them, only distinguishable by the large amount of dirty blond hair flying in the wind. It is Maysilee Donner. Nemit has only spoken to her once or twice before but the girl seems fairly nice; she doesn't gossip like the others. In fact, Nemit would almost consider being friends with her, if it wasn't for one thing: Maysilee is in love with Haymitch.

One day, when they were all twelve, Maysilee had talked to Haymitch in private after school. She had finally worked up the courage to confess her love, but right in the middle of the conversation, some of the other girls -the gossipy ones- had walked by and overheard everything. From that day on, Maysilee has been tormented and laughed at by everyone at school, and besides a sister and one other friend, was left completely isolated.

Despite this though, Maysilee isn't at all like the rest of Haymitch's admirers. She doesn't despise Nemit for being with him, and in their presence, hides her affection quite well, although, Nemit constantly catches her staring at them, not enviously, but rather in a lonely way. She genuinely hopes Maysilee is not called during the reaping.

Maysilee comes to a halt directly in front of them, stopping to catch her breath.

'Hey Nemit, Haymitch,' she gasps.

They smile and greet her.

'I just wanted to wish you both good luck today…'

'Thanks, _may the odds be ever in your favor,_' says Haymitch, mimicking a prissy Capitol accent.

After this, things start to get awkward; the only person who Nemit really talks to is Haymitch. Without asking, Maysilee continues the rest of their walk with them, and the couple doesn't oblige. They silently saunter for what seems like forever, listening to the branches swaying in the breeze and the morning melodies of the mockingjays. _It's such a nice day, there's no point in being miserable until the time comes_, thinks Nemit.

When Maysilee starts guiding them in an unfamiliar direction, Nemit asks where they are going, but the girl merely remains silent. They follow her curiously for a few more minutes and then finally halt at the foot of a large and crumbling, red brick house, almost entirely hidden by drooping trees. Nemit and Haymitch stare up at the building in astonishment while Maysilee watches them curiously.

'I live here.' she says abruptly.

It may as well be the community home, thinks Nemit. Indeed, they do look similar, with the house's rows and rows of tall glass pane windows and wild, green vines entwining their way around the walls; she shudders at the similarities. But there is something else, a homelike quality that the community home will never have. The house is also one of the biggest Nemit has seen in her life though; she had no idea that Maysilee is so rich.

Without hesitation, Maysilee pushes open the broken, peeling picket fence that surrounds the perimeter and the three walk down the narrow path, their feet crunching on the gravel, branches and leaves brushing against them. The front door has been left ajar and the soft tinkling of piano keys flows into the open, mingling well with the sunshine. She confidently leads them into a spacious front hall with marble floors and a grand staircase at the back. Nemit is overwhelmed with a warm and calming sensation. The sound of the piano has grown pleasantly louder.

'This way.' says Maysilee.

Haymitch and Nemit exchange looks as they follow her up the stairs and through a door on the landing. They are in an ordinary, though rather pink bedroom with an assortment of smiling rag dolls staring up at them. The small window has been thrown open and the delicate lacy drapes are flying in the wind. A very out of place spiral staircase stands in the corner, leading up to a wooden trap door. Where is this girl taking them? The music has now become dramtically louder, flowing down the stairs and filling Nemit's ears with the soothing sound. They climb the steps and Maysilee pushes open the square and hops through, disappearing from view. They follow with hesitation…

They appear to be in a long, airy, room that resembles an attic, although it is almost completely empty and there are several tall windows stretched across the wall. In one corner sits Maysilee's best friend, Belta Everdeen, who is sitting crossed legged on a plush cushion, hunched over a book. In the opposite end of the room is the source of the music: a magnificent grand piano, with Maysilee's twin sister, Zelda, at a bench, her hands flying effortlessly over the keys. Nemit watches enviously; she has never had an interest in playing an instrument, but right now, with the music more beautiful than ever, she would give anything to be able to play like that. The melody has a dream like quality that makes her feel like curling up into bed and falling into a peaceful sleep, full of passive dreams.

Zelda, who closely resembles Maysilee though is not identical, abruptly stops playing when Nemit takes a step closer to the piano. For a moment, they just stare at each other, her golden brown eyes boring into Nemit's own pale green ones.

'That sounds…' Nemit tries to find a word that would praise the music's beauty entirely. '…magical.'

Zelda smiles at the compliment.

'Debussy.' she says simply.

Nemit has no idea what the girl is talking about. 'Huh?' She says.

'He was a composer from the early 1900's… His music is quite extraordinary…'

A composer from the 1900's? Why would anybody play anything so old? But Nemit already knows the answer to that question: the music is enchanting. She could listen to it all day.

For the rest of the morning, the five of them talk, making jokes here and there, getting along surprisingly well; it's refreshing being with some other people for a change. They have fun getting to know each other. It's strange how reaping days can bring people closer together. Nemit doesn't even mind much when she catches Maysilee sneaking glances at Haymitch. At one o'clock though, Belta announces that they should all be getting ready for the dreaded reaping and no one protests.

Haymitch and Nemit leave the house, wishing everybody good luck for later today. And as they walk away from the old, red brick building, Nemit realizes that she doesn't really want to go. This is the first time, besides the ones with Haymitch, that she has ever felt a sense of belonging with others. The first time that she has actually enjoyed the company of people. Those girls actually like her… They want to be around her… Nemit has a strong feeling that she will be friends with the three for a long time.

...But then again...it's just a feeling...


	6. Maysilee: The Reaping

**Maysilee: The Reaping**

Maysilee lies on her bed, staring blankly out the open window, allowing the cool breath of the wind to nip at her face. Just like every year, the usual swarm of butterflies flutter in her stomach and she can't help but feel slightly dizzy. She doesn't want to go to the reaping. Even thinking about it makes her feel sick. Since age twelve, being reaped has been her largest fear, and this year, with the Quarter Quell constantly looming in the back of her mind, the intensity of her fear has done anything but subdue.

She lies there feeling like a coward. She shouldn't be feeling sorry for herself, why can't she have Nemit's courage and face the reaping each year with her head held high, only caring about the ones she loves?

Maysilee forces herself to stand, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. She can do this, she must face her fears. She wonders if anybody else gets as nervous as her for reapings.

Performing simple tasks suddenly seems incredibly difficult. She breaks down what she must do next into small steps as if she were a young child. _Alright now Maysilee, it's time to get dressed_… _First, walk to the closet… Next, pick a dress._ She does exactly this, slipping on whichever dress her hand brushes first, then, without looking in the mirror, pushes herself from the room and descends the stairs. She meets her sister at the front of the house, along with her mother and father, and together, the four of them walk down to the square.

As they walk, Maysilee's feelings only intensify. No matter what she does to try to calm herself, nothing works. She looks down at her feet and counts her steps. _Breathe … your name will not be called… you have no tesserae … the odds are in your favor… But then again, the Quell..._Thinking only makes Maysilee feel worse. Indeed, she has not been signed up for tesserae and never has been. Her family has enough money to get on without it and she is very grateful, though she can't stop herself from feeling embarrassed when she is around people like Nemit or Haymitch, who grew up having next to nothing.

Haymitch… It has been nearly five years since she told him her secret… Nearly five years since he walked away laughing his head off, leaving her feeling empty and brokenhearted… Haymitch … The boy who she can't help but have feelings for no matter how much she tries to convince herself otherwise... He is blunt and to the point, speaking his mind and never getting embarrassed, never caring what others think of him. Sometimes, it's as if he has the ability to completely switch off his emotions, become a different person, a machine like creature. Maybe this is why he and Nemit make such a good couple, she thinks to herself bitterly. They are both so strong and brave. Maysilee is the exact opposite. She is overly emotional, getting teary eyed at the slightest things, and worries about everyone's opinion. She has absolutely zero courage. Just look at her now, her name has not even been called and already she is going crazy.

Finally, they reach the crowded city square which has been decorated with cheerful banners and colours._ 'The 50th Hunger Games!' 'Happy Quarter Quell!'_ The signs read. The realization of the Quell's meaning is finally sinking in. Meant to make the Games more intense, double the amount of tributes will be chosen this year. Forty-two people will soon be in an arena trying to kill each other…_ Maybe even trying to kill me,_ she thinks. Maysilee has trouble squashing an ant; how on earth would she kill another human being?

Before Maysilee and her sister join the crowd of nervous children, their mother pulls them over.

'I love you girls more than anything.'

And with that, she gently kisses each of them on the forehead and, in turn, presses something into their sweaty hands. Maysilee opens her palm to see a golden circle, an intricate design etched into the center. _A mockingjay,_ she realizes... She turns to her sister, only to see a similar design made into a hair piece.

As she pins the broach to her front, the two sisters line up with the rest of the apprehensive looking sixteen year olds. The hundreds of children stand in cold silence, too nervous to talk, waiting for the dreaded reaping to begin. She looks around and spots Haymitch and Nemit squeezing hands. Nemit is looking very scared indeed, biting down on lower lip, her eyes wider than ever, while Haymitch has his fingers crossed behind his back, murmuring something into her ear, no doubt trying to calm her down. Maysilee wishes she had someone who cared about her like that, someone to calm her down when she gets nervous. But she knows deep down that there is really only one person that she would ever want to do that. And she also knows that she can never have him… Her heart breaks every time she sees the two together. She tries not to feel spiteful or envious towards Nemit, because really, it isn't her fault. Nemit's actually an extremely nice person.

She sees Belta, who is rigidly standing, her expression unreadable. Belta, her best friend, who is like a sister to her and Zelda. She would not know what to do if she did not have her…

Finally, the mayor goes to the podium and gives her usual speech about Panem. Then, the haughty woman from the Capitol, Dolly Lomberson, gets up to pick the names from the two glass balls. The woman's tangerine lips are grinning as if an invisible person is pulling on the edges, while her facial makeup resembles that of a circus clown. Needless to say, she does not bring comfort by looking down to all of the scared and anxious faces.

'Well, aren't all of you lucky to be alive during the Quarter Quell!' She says slowly and cheerfully, sporting her Capitol accent with pride. 'What an exciting experience!'

When the crowd is unresponsive, she takes a deep breath. 'Ladies first!'

Dolly eagerly reaches in her hand, covered in a fur lined glove, to the ball on the left and snatches a slip of paper sitting right on top of the pile. 'Ahem, our first female tribute is…' Maysilee holds her breath.

'Siberia Ranfed'. The crowd remains silent as a girl, about fourteen, with raven black hair stumbles to the stage, her expression dazed, looking back longingly at her family.

'Congratulations!' Dolly pronounces every syllable separately, baring her shockingly white, fake teeth.

'Next!' She shoves her hand into the ball once more, this time reaching right to the bottom, groping it around for longer than necessary. 'Our second female tribute is…'

'Maysilee Donner!'

It feels as if someone has just whopped Maysilee hard on the back, knocking all the wind out of her. No. She did not just say that name. That is impossible. It cannot happen. There must be a mistake. Maysilee does not know what to think. All emotion has left her.

The crowd clears a path as she forces herself to move her feet before she passes out. Walk, walk, walk, step, step, step… Breathe, breathe, breathe… but no breath comes. She has no time to register how she feels, there is only shock while she struggles to perform the simple tasks. She is astonished that she has even made it to the stage. While focusing on the attempt to inhale and exhale, her mind jolts at the sight of every screen across the square now baring glossy close ups of her face. Her expression does not portray how she feels even in the slightest. With a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes, she looks angry, fearless even… Still, no thoughts come to her mind…only shock…

'Congratulations!' Dolly grins.

As a male tribute is called, (a skinny eighteen year old from the Seam), Maysilee looks down at her family and friend. Their expressions are all the same …Horror…shock…sadness… Does no one have any confidence in her? She looks at Nemit, who has her face pressed into Haymitch's chest, his own head bowed down, Zelda…who has a trembling hand covering her mouth, which is hanging open in horror, Belta…who is on the verge of tears… She quickly turns away from them before she starts crying, not being able to handle it…not being able to handle any of this…

'And now… District Twelve's last tribute for the 50th Hunger Games, the second Quarter Quell is…' Dolly chooses the paper slip wisely, this time from the ball on the right.

'Ahem...

Haymitch Abernathy!'

No! Not Haymitch! Anyone but Haymitch! Why? Why is this happening? What wrong has she done in the world to deserve this? Maybe she will soon wake up to find that this is all a bad dream, a terrible, terrible nightmare! But she knows that her fear and shock could not compare to that of Nemit. Nemit's face is frozen… Frozen, without any expression at all… Completely cut off from anything remotely human. The one and only person she loves has been chosen to fight to the death with forty-one others and she cannot even sacrifice herself to save him! This, right here, is Nemit's worst fear, worst nightmare, come true.

This is sick, this is wrong… How could the Capitol so easily sacrifice innocent children, human beings with feelings, people that love and are loved by others? No, Maysilee will not participate! She refuses! _Kill me now_, she thinks.

Haymitch walks with his head held high, staring into nothingness. He ascends the steps and gives no sign of recognition towards Maysilee. No hint of the laughing boy she had seen earlier today remains in his face. His expression is stone cold and has not a single trace of fear; he has done what he does best: turned off all of emotion.

Haymitch's intentions are clearly written on his face and Maysilee is not the only alaremed tribute that notices.

Haymitch Abernathy is prepared to fight, to kill… to win.


	7. Haymitch: Stay Alive

**Haymitch: Stay Alive**

The four tributes are escorted into the Justice Building, a place Haymitch has never set foot in before. From the corner of his eye he can see Maysilee quizzically staring at him but he doesn't dare return her gaze; the cameras are now filming and he needs to uphold this newly established status. As they walk through the finely crafted halls, lead by a babbling Dolly Lomberson, he tries to appear as if he doesn't care. As if being called at the reaping was no big deal. As if this all really is a game..._  
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After the sudden jolt he had gotten in his stomach when he heard his name called, he had looked over at Nemit and realized what he must do. Her expression had been one of utmost horror and disbelief, which are expressions that he rarely sees crossing her face. And that, that terrified look, that was what had motivated him to adopt this attitude of dauntlessness. He must win. Not for him, but for her. Of course he is scared, but he can't let that show, he needs to stay strong, if he loses hope, then so will she.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and slouches, hanging back from the rest of the group, giving the cameras what Nemit calls his 'jerk smirk'. The first tribute that has ever smiled after the reaping… They're going to go wild over him in the Capitol.

He is shown to a fancy room in which he enters alone, waiting for something to happen next. Plush chairs, velvet carpets, and lace curtains are everywhere he turns his head. But at this moment, such things mean nothing to him. In fact there are a lot of things that now mean nothing to him. His hopes, dreams, plans to marry Nemit and have a life with her, all of that doesn't matter anymore because right now, he needs to focus on merely staying alive.

There is a quiet sniffling sound and Haymitch turns to see his mother and Melmar rigidly standing in the doorway.

'Haymitch!' she cries, latching herself onto him. These next few weeks will no doubt be hard on her. Because of work, she has no time to be hunting, cooking, cleaning, or even taking care of Melmar. Haymitch is the one who does all of that.

As he embraces his mother, rubbing her back soothingly, he looks over her shoulder at little Mel, who has adverted his eyes down to his feet, trying to hide tears. Little Mel… Skinnier and most definitely smarter than anyone else his age. The kid is only thirteen but has had some shocking experiences that no one should ever have to go through. Lately Haymitch has been spending less and less time with him too, ignoring his pleas to go to the woods or play cards, being occupied with 'more important' things. How could he be so selfish? The boy is his younger brother for heaven's sake and Haymitch needs him just as much as he needs Haymitch! He adds Mel to the list of reasons of why he must win.

When his mother finally lets go he turns his attention to the young boy standing infront of him.

'I want you to be strong, okay buddy?' Haymitch says, willing his voice to stay steady. He puts a wavering hand on Mel's shoulders and looks him straight in the eye. 'You're in charge now.'

Mel's eyes are red and teary. His lip trembles. 'Don't go…' he whispers.

Haymitch stares at his brother. Something hard is welling up inside his throat, making it difficult to speak. 'It'll only be for a few weeks. Then I'll come back home and we'll be rich! Won't that be great?' He vainly attempts to smile.

Mel responds by falling into his older brother's arms. Haymitch shuts his eyes as his brother's quivering figure rests on him, his warmth seeping into Haymitch's own stone cold body. _Stay strong_, he thinks. _Do not cry, whatever you do._ _Do _not_ cry_. _You are not weak…_

But he is weak. Deep down, he knows it. There is a feeling that keeps nagging at the back of his mind, looming above his head like a threatening storm cloud. _You are going to die_, it is saying. No matter how much he tries to convince himself otherwise the feeling refuses to vanish.

A woman in a white uniform, a Peacekeeper, informs his family that it is time for them to leave. The three embrace in one last group hug and his mother kisses him on the cheek, whispering, 'Stay strong. I know you can do it.'

As they walk out the door Mel gives Haymitch ones last fleeting look, his eyes scared and desperate. And then... They are gone.

He walks over to the fireplace, flames dancing ominously, and rests his head on the mantelpiece. Could that have possibly been the last time he will see his family? What is he going to do? Suddenly, the situation just seems so hopeless!

Aware that a figure is now standing in the doorway, he turns to see the person that he loves more than anything in this world. Nemit is wearing her polka dot dress and the pink jewel necklace, fists clenched tightly at her sides. Her body is erect and ghostly pale. Her lip is slightly trembling but her wide eyes, though scared, are more determined than ever, having not even the slightest trace of tears.

The two stand there from across the room for what seems like a very long time, staring, memorizing each other. It is incredible that just a few hours ago they were holding and kissing each other like never before, not a care in the world. But that was a lifetime ago…

She is absolutely still, making no movement whatsoever towards him, her eyes, like always, are not staring _at_ him, but staring _into_ him, searching for a flame that has been extinguished a long time ago.

All of a sudden, it is as if an electric current has surged through her body. She jerks forward and runs to him. She shudders, breathing deeply in his arms as he holds her, never wanting to let go, wishing that this moment could last forever. Why? Why must he do this? Why must he leave the girl he loves unconditionally, the girl who needs him desperately, the girl that he can't go a day without?

They collapse onto one of the finely embroidered couches and she rests her head on his lap while he caresses soft strands of her hair and squeezes her hand. No. He _can't_ leave her. He _won't _leave her. He _needs_ her. She is his missing piece! Without her, there would be no meaning whatsoever to his life! How will he be able to survive without her? He looks at their hands, interlocked together, and realizes that he is shaking more than she is. Out of fury, out of loss, out of sadness…

'Listen,' he murmurs, straining to keep a steady voice. 'I'm coming back home, okay? I'm gonna win.'

Her eyes, stunningly green, find his.

'You better.' There is the bitter ghost of a smirk toying with her lips. Her voice stays strong and unwavering.

Finally, she slides up and looks at him. Looks at his legs, his chest, his arms, his neck... She gently traces every part of his body, parts that she has never really touched before. She lightly strokes over his lips, the outline of his prominent cheekbones. She rubs her soft hand against the stubble on his cheeks and slowly runs her fingers through strands of his dark, curly hair. Then, brow furrowed in concentration, she extends a finger and wipes a single tear rolling down his cheek.

The Peacekeeper returns and notifies the two that time is up. And now the panic at actually leaving Nemit begins to rise in Haymitch's stomach. They stand and search each other's faces once more, the precious seconds slipping by much too quickly. He tries in vain to memorize her face, finding certain features and details that he's never really paid attention to before. Long dark eyelashes…a freckle underneath her left ear… The Peacekeeper is just telling them to hurry up when Nemit grabs Haymitch and kisses him with a burning, passionate fire. This kiss, unlike the one during the previous night, is urgent and filled with something entirely new and different. Sadness maybe? It clearly says 'good-bye'. Just before she pulls away her lips brush against his ear, whispering something.

'Promise me one thing…'

'Anything.' he pants.

'…Stay alive.'

She carefully places her necklace around his neck without another word. At least now he'll always have a part of her with him. Something to motivate him. Keep him strong.

And with her arm outstretched, the feeling of her warm fingers slipping away from his, she turns to leave. He feels like screaming. _No! Don't go! Don't leave me! I need you! I love you! Come back!_ She stands in the doorway once more and just like Mel, gives him one last desperate look. She doesn't even object as the Peacekeeper, finally getting fed up, shoves her out of the way and slams the door shut.

Haymitch reaches the couch just in time as he collapses into sobs.


	8. Nemit: A Shoulder To Cry On

Nemit is running. Where she is running to, she has no idea, but all thought has left her except for this simple task. The weather has turned suddenly cold and dark. Storm clouds are billowing through District Twelve, casting a well deserved, ominous atmosphere. With tears streaking down her cheeks and her eyes red and puffy, the freezing wind bites at her face as she pushes herself to go faster. She needs to get away from here as quickly as possible.

She passes many cheerful, relieved people, all coming home from the reaping, their sons and daughters spared for another year. The idiots….

She clutches a painful stitch in her chest as she huffs and puffs up a steep hill, not stopping…never stopping if she can handle it…

Finally, she can see the place her feet have carried her to: a large, crumbling red brick house. She slows down as she approaches, hops over the white gate and sprints up the gravel pathway. She comes to a halt at the doorstep.

Why did Nemit choose to come here? She supposes that she is seeking a place with happy memories, with people who don't despise her. But with Haymitch gone, she realizes that there aren't _any_ places like that. She desperately needs someone to comfort her…someone to hold her and love her, to tell her that everything will be okay… It's times like this when she wishes she had a family, especially a mother.

Disregarding the brass knocker, Nemit raps the door once with her knuckles and almost immediately, it swings open, revealing Zelda, who is clutching a handkerchief, her face a soaking mess. As soon as Nemit meets her eyes, Zelda's lower lip begins to tremble and she bursts into tears for, what Nemit guesses to be the umpteenth time. She grabs Nemit by the arm and pulls her inside and up to the attic where a sniffling Belta lies on the ground.

Nemit and Zelda collapse onto the floor beside the other girl, a fresh wave of sobs washing over all of them. The three girls sit, holding each other's hands and weeping on each other's shoulders. They cry for the longest time, not speaking at all; just being in each other's presence is enough. Just knowing that someone is there, that someone cares, that someone understands is plenty. Finally, their sobs turn into heaving breaths, and the three sniffle themselves to sleep on the hard, wooden floor.


	9. Haymitch: The Interview

**Haymitch: The Interview**

Haymitch forces himself into even breaths. He can't go out looking anxious. That would just ruin the entire point. He and Rockwell, his mentor, had decided that his image for the interview is to be a mix of arrogance and confidence. He is on strict orders to appear superior to all in order to win over the hearts of enthusiastic sponsors.

He drags the cold sweat from his palms onto the pants of his eccentrically coloured suit while his eyes wander to the stage where Maysilee currently sits in a dark and sparkly dress, chatting awkwardly to an enthusiastic Caesar Flickerman about her strengths _and_ weaknesses. That won't do. Not at all appealing to the sponsors… A twinge of guilt plays at the back of his mind just like every time he is forced to look at her. Haymitch intends to win, but doing so would mean accepting her death, something he can't help but feel hesitant to do.

And as a sharp buzzing slices the air, signifying the end of Maysilee's time, Haymitch prepares his face in imitation of a scowl. A scowl already so well-known, so loved by the hundreds of Capitol fans. _Fans that thirst for_ your_ bloodshed_, he must remind himself constantly.

'Now, I know you've all been waiting anxiously for this one.' Caesar side-grins knowingly, mauve eyebrows in high arches.

'Give a hand for Haymitch Abernathy of District Twelve!'

The audience erupts into a thundering euphoria that pounds hard in his ears as he walks up to the stage with unfaltering footsteps, pausing only to yawn pointedly. It takes longer than the other tributes for the crowd to calm down. His clammy hand is shaken by Caesar while the audience expresses their joy through maniacal hollering. He crosses a leg and slouches into his seat, spreading his arms over the top, trying to appear comfortable. An unnecessary spotlight flashes directly in his face, completely obscuring his vision.

'So! _Haymitch! _How're you feeling? Strapping guy like you, I'm guessing that your not nervous?' Caesar grins widely, his blindingly white teeth glinting like diamonds.

Haymitch answers without hesitation. 'Quite frankly, I'm feeling kind of bored.'

The audience bursts into rapturous laughter while Haymitch doesn't go as far as even raising an eyebrow.

'Bored?' Caesar repeats, a look of humorously exaggerated shock painted to his face, enhancing each surgically altered feature. 'Well that's definitely a first!'

'Now tell us about that high training score! A ten certainly is promising!'

Haymitch had demonstrated to the Gamemakers his ability of complete focus and precision as he hit the centre of a target time after time with his favoured weapon, a knife.

'And unlike the others, I barely even had to try.' He says, smirking ever so slightly.

Right on cue, the audience ecstatically hollers at his response, their laughter ringing in his ears.

'Well Haymitch, you know that I admire confidence. But doesn't it make you nervous knowing that there are _twice_ as many tributes than usual?'

And this will be the cherry on top, his ticket to unlimited sponsors.

'I don't see what difference it makes. I mean, they're still going to be just as stupid as usual.'

And that breaks the Capitol. They're uncontrollable cackles bounce off the walls, forcing him to think of the wild hooting of monkeys. He allows them to catch a glimpse of a superior smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief. The buzzer sounds and he hears them all whispering excitedly to one another.

'Well Haymitch, it's been… interesting.' The Capitol chuckles pointedly. 'All the best and may the odds be ever in your favor!' Caesar pats him on the back.

The audience howls with the most cheers and applause of the night. As he leaves, he turns to wink, causing jubilee from countless women. It is hard to suppress the grin threatening to stretch between his cheeks. And this time, it's not even forced.

* * *

><p>The elevator ride back to their floor is quite awkward. He is wedged in-between the two other District Twelve tributes, both of whom he has taken no effort to get to know. They shoot him glares, not bothering to hide their jealousy of his victorious interview. As for Maysilee, her presence is unknown. After her own interview she mysteriously disappeared.<p>

When they arrive to their floor, Haymitch waits until the other two slip into their rooms, then hurries down the hall and up a flight of narrow steps, finally emerging onto a sort of roof balcony. Immediately, gentle gusts of cool air blow across his sweating face and the soft tinkling of chimes calms his nerves. Every night, he has secretly been coming up here to think in solitude. As he moves toward the edge of the rooftop, where a quaint flower garden grows, he notices a hunched silhouette looking out at the Capitol horizon. He moves forward and hears sniffling.

And without even a glance at her, he slips down beside her and stares to the flashing city lights. He can feel her tearful eyes on him, though he knows better than to reassure her. Maysilee is almost certain to die and there is no way in the world he can change that fact. There is no use in telling her false words of comfort. The only thing he can do is sit here and be with her. Perhaps his mere presence will give her courage.

For a few moments they sit in silence, listening to the muffled honks and shouts of the Capitol city below. And then she speaks in a shaky voice.

'You're going to win, you know that, Haymitch?'

He doesn't respond.

'The others don't stand a chance against you,' she says. There is a pause, then she adds, '_I_ don't stand a chance against you.'

And he can't help but look up at her. Their eyes meet for the first time in a week and she stares into them hungrily. Her eyes, glassy with tears, are dull and grey just like his, although they lack the bright determination withheld in his own. Her lips, still smudged with bright Capitol lipstick, slowly form a sad smile. And that is when Haymitch experiences his first moment of weakness. Her expression tugs at his heart and he suddenly is overcome with emotions of pity. None of this is fair. She shouldn't be forced to fight, to die. None of them should.

For a moment, he thinks of hugging her. Keeping her safe for at least these last precious moments of life. And he almost does. But the tiny voice in the back of his mind hisses, _weak._ He stares at her, trying to think of some way to comfort her, but nothing comes to him.

Instead, he forces his expression to harden and slowly walks away without even a backward glance at the hurt look on her face.


	10. Haymitch: The Alliance

Careers. They have finally trapped him. Three of them are slowly making their way towards Haymitch, deadly grins stretched across their worn faces. With each step they take his heart pounds like a drum, preparing him for what is to surely come next. Death.

While he _does_ have a knife and the careers are currently carrying no weapons, they still have their strength. He's pretty strong but he doesn't think that he'll be able to tackle three careers alone. Most likely, they will want to relish his slaughter, too. Unquestionably, his death will be long and painful. _This is it_, he thinks. Prepare yourself.

For a moment, the four just stand there staring at each other. Do _not_ show fear, he thinks. You are not weak. He grips the knife harder as he feels it slipping out of his grasp due to the excess grime and sweat on his hands.

No doubt the careers want to take him off guard. With no warning, they sprint wildly towards him, a maniac look in their eyes. With adrenaline pumping through him, he can barely see as he swipes his knife frantically at whatever flesh crosses his path. In no time at all, he is soaked with fresh blood and has several newly acquired, stinging cuts and bruises.

Two of the careers now lie on the ground, almost dead. But the largest of the trio still remains. Haymitch can tell that the boy was not expecting him to put up this good of a fight. Obvious frustration surging through him, the career lunges forward and latches himself onto Haymitch, knocking them both to the ground. For a while, the two wrestle and struggle. But when Haymitch least expects it, the boy grabs his fist and yanks the knife out of his grip. Now with the weapon in possession, confidence and grin back on track, the career pins Haymitch down and prepares to slice his throat.

As the razor-sharp blade of the knife, dripping blood, descends on him, Haymitch frantically attempts to resist by grabbing onto the career's wrist and pushing away with all his might. Perhaps this boy is just a bit stronger, maybe more determined, because the knife is slowly going in the opposite direction of where Haymitch wants it to go. It is now an inch away from his throat. Both boys grunt and pant in frustration.

With his life flashing before his eyes, Haymitch thinks of his last regrets as he struggles. Good-bye, Nemit. I love you, he thinks. I'm sorry I failed you. Bye-bye Mel, I'm sorry I wasn't such a great big brother. So many things he should've done, should've said… and now he'll never get the chance. He is stuck here, dying by the hand of some stupid boy from District One. The piercing blue, ice cold eyes of this career are going to be the last thing that he ever sees in this cruel life. How sad.

But wait a second. Something is wrong. The boy's strength has lessened greatly and his eyes…his eyes… no more are they piercing, they are… glassy. He spits blood right into Haymitch's already filthy face as he falls back to the ground, a slimy, sickly green dart shoved in his back. The cannon sounds.

Haymitch heaves a sigh of relief. But what just happened? He looks around and is shocked to see Maysilee Donner, her blowgun still raised, camouflaged into the trees. He had not seen her since the first day of the Games and he has to admit, while she just saved his life, he's not too sure how he feels about her presence. Besides her filthiness and a few scrapes and bruises, she looks relatively okay and uninjured. Though indeed, she is giving him a very strange stare.

Like a cautious deer, she slowly makes her way through the leaves and branches to the spot where Haymitch stands.

'We would live longer with the two of us together.' Her determined voice rings out into the silence.

'I guess you just proved that,' he answers stiffly, purposely looking away from her.

They talk in monotonic voices, as if they were both strangers to each other.

'Allies?' he asks warily.

The words leave his lips before he has time to think. Does he really want to be Maysilee's ally? Obviously, it is always valuable to have another person to watch your back, especially one that is capable of saving your life, but all alliances must be temporary, right? Ignoring this girl is something he can do, he has done it since the moment they had been reaped, but killing her is another thing. He knows in his heart that if the time came he would never be able to do it.

She nods her head curtly.

'You look terrible,' she exclaims, relaxing a little now that the alliance has been made.

He shrugs. 'It could be worse.'

Yes, the Capitol will love that. They already love everything about Haymitch, though. His looks, his wits, his strength. But they love him especially for that one quality. The ability to switch off all emotion. After crying buckets when he was reaped, he realized that if he wanted to stand a chance of winning, he just couldn't afford to be viewed as a weakling. And he knows that he must win, for his mother, for Melmar, for Nemit. So he decided to adopt this new attitude of dauntlessness.

He did not wave or smile once to any of the crowds while being in the Capitol and, during his interview, completely acted superior to the other tributes. He can tell that he gives off a certain feel to others; in his presence, people always know that he means business. He prides himself for being this way. It is what has kept him alive so far in the Games.

Maysilee shares some of her water and dried apples with him as the two travel in silence towards who-knows-where. It is odd being with her and acting so distant. Before they had both been reaped, they had laughed together as if they were good friends. Never again will that happen.

He notices that, though he makes an obvious point to avoid her gaze, she repeatedly keeps darting quick glances at him. He wonders if she still has a crush on him. If so, it only makes things more painful. As they walk, he tries not to pay attention to her and always keeps a few paces ahead to let her know that he's leading, that he's in charge.

The bright, sunny afternoon soon turns into a misty evening and the two tributes are soon too tired to keep going for much longer. They decide to settle down in a small, hidden clearance between the trees.

'I'll take first watch,' Maysilee offers.

Haymitch nods. Using his bag as a pillow, he lies down on his back and looks out through the branches onto the horizon. The sky, smeared with shades of deep pink and purple, is now a host to the glowing, orange ball this is the setting sun. The anthem plays and the three careers (Districts One and Two) are shown in the starry, night sky.

Aware of Maysilee's pensive eyes on him, Haymitch shuts his own and tries to do what he does best: close his mind off from reality and cease all emotion. But for some reason, it isn't working too well at the moment. Being with Maysilee is making him miss home more than ever before.


	11. Maysilee: Goodbye

**Maysilee: Goodbye**

There are five people left in the 50th Annual Hunger Games. Maysilee Donner is one of them.

For the first time, Maysilee is allowing herself to acknowledge the possibility of actually going home, of winning. When she had been reaped she had thought that she wouldn't last the first day, let alone the first four weeks. And now here she is, completely shocked at how long she has managed to survive.

She is desperate to see her family, longing for the gentle touch on her cheek that only her mother could give. To hear the cheerful, booming voice of her father when he comes through the front door. To lie awake in the dark for hours with Zelda, speaking about whatever is on their minds. She misses her best friend, Belta Everdeen, and her positive outlook on life.

But of course, her survival of this past week has depended greatly on one other person. Haymitch Abernathy. After she had saved him from the careers she had known that he would propose an alliance. Though at the time, she hadn't realized how painful being around him would be, knowing that one or both of them will soon be dead. Although she aches with homesickness, Maysilee secretly hopes that Haymitch will win instead of her; he deserves it more. If he won, his family and Nemit would greatly benefit from the winnings. Maysilee's family can get on just fine without the extra money and new home, plus, she couldn't bear to go back to District Twelve alone, only to see that strange look in Nemit's eyes. She wouldn't be able to live with herself for coming home without Haymitch. Without her true love, even if she couldn't have him anyway. Nemit deserves to be happy. And she is happiest with Haymitch. The sad thing is, so is Maysilee.

The two are currently trying to find the 'end' of the arena. It was Haymitch's idea; he thinks that there is something useful at the finish. Maysilee highly doubts this but when she questioned him, finally getting fed up, he persisted without giving a valid response. The two spend their days in dead silence, stopping only to sleep, walking until every part of their bodies ache, the scorching sun beating down upon them.

During daylight, they do not converse but act as if they are strangers; now that they are both in the arena there is basically nothing left to say to each other. It is a little too late to kindle a friendship. Although more than once she caught his mouth opening, then hastily closing, as if there was something more personal he wanted to share with her other than their current location or food supply.

Finally, after enduring countless painful days and nights, they have arrived to their destination.

They have reached a different part of the arena. It is not overwhelmed by tropical trees and deadly animals but is inhabited by a steep, rocky cliff, followed by a breathtaking view of an open stretch of grassy land that lies far below them, going on for miles. A damp white mist obscures most of the cliff, drenching the rocks in a muggy dampness.

The arena has turned to one giant cooking pot. While the sun is no where in sight, with the grayness of clouds comes an unbearable humidity, the kind that follows a hot rain shower. They are sweating buckets, rolling up their pants, and stripping down their jackets. The Gamemakers have surely hiked up the temperature to see them struggle.

Maysilee's empty stomach jerks unpleasantly with sudden hunger cramps while her mind stays cloudy like the sky above; the mugginess is making her feel drowsy and stupid.

She watches Haymitch's reaction to this apparent 'end' of the arena. He marches determinedly through the fog and over to the edge of the cliff, eyeing the stretch of land, allowing the warm breeze to ruffle his hair, which has become considerably lighter since being in the arena. For a while he merely stands there and seems to become completely oblivious to his surroundings. Maysilee remains rigid a few paces behind him, watching him intently. Perhaps he has forgotten that she's even there? There is silence broken only by the whispering wind and the occasional echoed chirp of a mockingjay. After maybe ten minutes of pause, she decides to speak up.

'That's all there is, Haymitch,' she says. 'Let's go back.'

Her eyes water from the fog as she waits for his response. After what seems like a very long time, he speaks with a strange voice. Soft and far-off.

'No. I'm staying here.'

_But I_ _don't want to_, she thinks. And then she realizes what he means. It really isn't _that_ unexpected. She should have guessed this. Haymitch wants to break off the alliance. With so little tributes left, it could easily come down to the two of them. She cringes at that thought.

She takes a deep breath. Haymitch. The one she has loved since she was five years old. The one that was still nice to her, despite all the rumors. The one who she has spent this entire week with, developing a certain emotional bond. Is she really ready to say good-bye to this boy forever? She hardens her heart and forces herself to say the dreaded words.

'Alright...' She struggles to keep her voice even. 'There's only five left. I wouldn't want it to come down to the two of us.' And she means it.

There is a pause in which a wave of nausea washes over her, the white mist clinging to her already moist skin, causing an all around uncomfortable clamminess.

'Okay,' he says. She waits for him to say more, to say good-bye. When the pause stretches, she realizes that there will be nothing else. He can't afford to look weak, especially not at such a vital point in the games. _Alright, then. If that's all._

Before she turns to leave, he glances back at her with a hard, quizzical look, the same scowl he has been wearing ever since they had been reaped. But she can see straight past his mask to the glint of sadness in his eyes.

'Good-bye.' Her voice cracks and Haymitch's scowl loosens for just a split second.

She is saying a final farewell not to the man in the arena, but to the boy from District Twelve, the one that she laughed with on that last day.


	12. Haymitch: The Final Goodbye

**Haymitch: The Final Goodbye**

He gives her one last fleeting look, just like the one Mel gave him, and she disappears through the mist forever. There is no use harping on it. It will be better to forget about her. Erase her from his memories.

He shuts his eyes and fingers Nemit's pink jewel, unwillingly thinks about home. About that last day in Maysilee's attic, their laughter still ringing in his ears. About his mother and Melmar, that last look Mel had given him replaying in his mind ever since. About Nemit and - _Oh, Nemit._ Why must he be separated from the ones he loves? He just wants to go home! Why must innocent children be killed, be murdered, and even worse, their deaths be celebrated? He will not enjoy being winner of such a sick game...

He looks out onto the open horizon, the billowing storm clouds emitting a soft thunder, deciphering his next moves. There is only one way he's going home. _How_ he's going to accomplish being Victor, he has no idea.

Directly below him lies a bottomless canyon, the jagged edges of crumbling rock pointing out from the sides. If Haymitch were a coward he is certain that he would come here to end his life.

Abruptly, as if given a command, he aims a kick at a nearby pebble, sending it tumbling into the pit. He watches it become tiny as it falls farther and farther, and then anticipates the 'splash' or 'bang' that is sure to follow. He waits, but it doesn't come. Just as puzzlement overwhelms him, he hears a peculiar 'whooshing' noise rising from the rocks instead. He doesn't quite know what to think when the pebble, the very same one he had just kicked over, zooms up and lands right by his feet.

How very odd. He kicks another pebble into the ravine and the same events follow. Once again, the stone whooshes back up as if pushed by a burst of air, then lands directly at his feet. Despite himself, he smiles in astonishment as the realization dawns on him. A force field in the midst of the arena... The Capitol really does think of everything.

He is just preparing to throw over a stone much larger than the others when a blood curdling screech, echoing all through the canyon, interupts him. The sound makes the hairs on his neck stand straight and, despite the heat, sends a shiver down his spine. Is it Maysilee? Or just one of the others? He freezes in place, unsure of whether to leave and check the identity. Whoever it is, he'll find out later tonight.

'HAYMITCH!' A desperate, shrill voice screams out from the jungle.

That confirms his suspicions; there is only one person in this arena who would call him for their aid. Down the horizion, he sees a flock of candy pink birds take off from the tree tops and flutter to the sky, cawing at the top of their lungs. The sight of the birds make his heart drop down a flight of stairs; those venomous mutts have no doubt killed her.

He tries to reason himself into not going. It is not worth it. Maysilee had accepted his request to break off the alliance and with doing so, she accepted the consequences. But there is something in the pit of his stomach telling him to flee to her side. He thinks of Nemit and what she would do in such a situation. He thinks of how Nemit is reacting to all of this right now. She would most definitely want him to say a final, proper good-bye to Maysilee Donner. Frankly though, he's not so sure his conscious would let him get away without doing so anyway.

Putting the force field to the back of his mind, he begins to run in the direction of the scream. He bolts through the trees, the frequent branches grabbing at his arms and legs, willing himself to go faster, daring himself not to topple over. He must get there before he hears the cannon.

He can tell that he is getting close. Along with the rustling of leaves and alarmed Mockingjays, a moaning sound is now floating through the branches. Whatever creature is making that noise is most definitely in unbearable pain.

As he nears a clearing, he sees a figure lying in tall, yellow grass, the image obscured by the tree branches.

At first sight, it all simply seems unreal. His mouth hangs open. A wave of sickness rolls through his stomach, leaving him ice cold and weak in the knees. With one look, he knows that he cannot help this girl in any way. Sprawled in front of him is Maysilee Donner, her once delicate features now distorted, her body mangled and bloody, though her chest heaving unnaturally. Her clothes are drenched in red and torn to rags, revealing battered, raw flesh. The majority of her body, particularly arms and neck, has been pecked down to shreds by the feathery pink mutations. He doesn't know what to think. What to do. It just can't be. This is all just a bad dream. Haymitch is going to wake up soon, warm in his bed, Nemit at his side.

He drops down to his knees and observes the horror of it all. Maysilee's bulging eyes meet his own. Her face, full of anguish, has been clawed and pecked at to the point where he almost does not recognize her. He stares wordlessly into her panicked face, her grey Seam eyes wide with fear. She stares back into his own eyes, lip trembling, as if grasping onto this last image of him, pleading silently. There are tears streaming down her cheeks, the colour draining quicker and quicker. With each breath, she shudders sharply, gasping for air. Her pain is like a stab to his heart.

He takes her hand in his own and strokes a knot of her hair. His eyes begin to sting and he grits his teeth, trying to fight back the tears. Maysilee squeezes his hand as she lets out a particularly sharp gasp of pain, her face contorted. Why must he watch this innocent girl suffer?

Her lips tremble but no words follow the movement. From her emits a strange throaty groan then a repetitive and tormented gulping noise. No doubt the mutts have ruined her vocal chords.

'Ay… mit…' Her weak voice is pitiful.

'I'm right here.' He whispers, surprised that he has managed to speak.

He slowly leans forward, lightly pressing his ear against her blood stained lips.

'I love you.'

She speaks so faintly that he thinks he may have imagined the words. It will be impossible for the cameras to pick up what she has just said. Then, before he can reply, he hears the sigh of a last breath.

The pressure from her hand is gone. Her body is still. Limp. Somewhere, the cannon blasts. But Haymitch barely hears it. Staring down at her lifeless, mutilated form, reality is flooding in; Maysilee Donner is dead.

He looks to her face, which is finally free of agony. With two trembling fingertips, he tenderly slides her eyelids down, his throat burning and eyes swelling. He chews his lower lip as he looks her over for the last time. He leans close to her body and softly presses his lips against her forehead.

'Goodbye.' He whispers as he releases her hand. Then he rises from the ground and walks away without a backward glance, bringing himself to full standing height.

Haymitch feels nothing. There is no emotion left inside of him.

While he might appear fearless to all of Panem, deep down the child within him yearns to cry out in anguish.


	13. Haymitch: The Victor

The relatively warm afternoon has turned to a cool evening, the sun sinking lower in the sky every moment, casting a luminous orange glow. The light breeze that feebly blows through the branches, rustling the leaves, only adds to the already disconcerting atmosphere. As soon as that gentle wind gusts against Haymitch's worn, sweaty face he can tell that this will be his last evening in the arena.

The two tributes stand, exhausted but erect, a dirt field separating them. The girl in front of Haymitch looks extremely fatigued and feral although determined and desperate. Her nostrils flair and she bares her pointed teeth as she impatiently fingers the blade of a blood-stained axe hanging from her belt. There is a crazed, maniac look in her eyes. Being from District One, she has most likely trained her entire life for this moment. If she dies, she fails everyone, bringing dishonor to her family and mentor.

Haymitch stares the girl down, his Seam eyes narrowed, bright and dangerous like that of a wild cat. This is the moment that he has been waiting for. Get it over with and he will be home before he knows it. He will be able to see his family. See Nemit. He stands straight and readies himself, adrenaline pumping through his entire body. You _must_ win. You must not fail Nemit.

The girl eagerly makes the first move and Haymitch begins to see everything as if in slow motion. All of a sudden, the two are running wildly towards each other, weapons raised, through a cloud of dust that the wind has blown between them. This is it. District One verses Twelve. Career verses Seam.

She begins swiping madly at Haymitch with her axe. He dodges each swipe and retaliates by aiming a kick at her face. She ducks just in time and manages to punch him forcefully in the chest while he is off guard, knocking him backward. Next, the two roll on the ground with each other, the girl grunting in frustration. Her filthy, blond hair whips Haymitch in the face repeatedly, obscuring his vision. He grabs his knife and accidentally although successfully slices her right eye. She shrieks in pain and shock as blood pours from the socket onto Haymitch's already filthy face. He takes advantage of her moment of weakness by fiercely kicking her off of him, his foot colliding with her nose. He can distinctly hear the crunch of breaking bone.

He has angered this girl greatly. To her, it may seem as if Haymitch is making a fool of her. Mocking her strength. She grabs her axe and swipes him right in the stomach, a triumphant look spreading across her face. Immediately, Haymitch knows that she has done fatal damage. He feels nauseated and weak. He looks down to see himself soaked in deep red, blood gushing from him, a large, sticky puddle surrounding him on the ground. He almost vomits. Instead though, he buckles over to his knees and sends his arms flying to his midsection, holding in his intestines, which are threatening to fall out.

'You bitch!' He shrieks at her.

Tears streak down his face, although they go unnoticed, blending in with the dirt, sweat, and blood.

Haymitch begins to run, his knees bent, his body hunched, arms protecting his insides. He runs like never before in his life, blood spraying the trees as he goes. All he comprehends is that he needs to get as far away from this psycho as possible. She follows, laughing manically as he stumbles around the forest. He flees from her like a wounded, wild animal, pushing himself to go faster, willing the wind to carry him somewhere safe.

And then, he sees it in the distance. The rocky, misty cliff. The place where he broke off the alliance with Maysilee. But why have his feet carried him here? He pursues to this destination without much thought to it. No sooner does Haymitch take one step onto the stones does he tumble to the ground in a cloud of dust. He only has enough strength left to pull himself up so he is on his knees. The girl advances on him, her newly acquired wounds making her look madder than ever.

This is it, thinks Haymitch. Time to die. He knows that he is much too weak to put up anymore of a fight. He cannot even think about Nemit or his family. He is losing so much blood that the world is now spinning faster and faster, making him extremely dizzy. Make it stop, he thinks. His head is pounding harder than ever. He begins to shake violently. He cannot think, cannot breathe. Splotches of purple are dancing in the trees.

The only thing that Haymitch registers is a sharp metallic something flying through the air, missing his face by mere inches. He hears the familiar whooshing noise that the pebbles made while flying up from the force field. He hears a terrified, high-pitched scream like none other. He hears a sickening slicing noise. Then, silence. His cheek collides onto the rocks, splashing in a warm, sticky liquid.

Haymitch has passed out.


	14. Nemit: The Victor

Nemit lies, hands behind her head, on a plain, too-small bed in one of the community home rooms. The place is tiny with just enough space for the bed and a small, practically empty night table. The rainy, overcast outside is setting a dull gray look around the peeling wallpaper.

Nemit stares at the ceiling with bored eyes, the weather making her feel sleepy and stupid. Though she may not be showing it, inside she is screaming. These past few weeks have been the hardest ones in her entire life to get through. Every moment, every second, it has been impossible for her to rest. She is constantly on edge.

People say she is crazy. Hell, she even thinks that she might be crazy. But she needs to know. It would be better she know if something terrible happened right away than she not know at all and was left wondering. For the past few weeks Nemit has been rushing home from school, skipping lunch, staying up late, waking up as early as possible, all to watch the Games. At night, she will lay awake in bed not being able to sleep. In school, her mind wanders to crazy scenarios in the arena. When she _does_ get to watch the Games it's not because she wants to. It's never because she wants to. It's because she _must_. She _must_ know what happens to Haymitch. Every time she sees him on the television she stares at the screen with wide eyes and trembling lips. Never crying but never smiling. Come to think of it, she hasn't smiled in a long time.

The plump, red faced woman who is in charge of this dump had sent Nemit to her room, forbidding her from viewing the Games on account of her 'bad' behavior. Usually Nemit would not obey such orders but today something has come over her. The hag had shoved her into this room, locking the door on her way out and Nemit hadn't even attempted to put up a fight. If she really wanted to, she could escape through the window but today she just doesn't have the energy. Is it because of the Games?

Nemit remembers how she felt singing the love song Zelda had picked out for her to all of Panem, being intervied by Caesar Flickerman. She had been nervous at the time but that was nothing compared to how she feels right now. Sick. She thinks she may vomit.

After waiting for what felt like an eternity, the peeling brass knob of the door jiggles, and Nemit sits up hopefully. The door swings open, revealing Ms. Abernathy, Haymitch's mother. The woman is biting down on her lower lip, just as Haymitch does when he is unsure or hiding something. Her scraggly graying hair is in a loose bun and her clothes look more patched and tattered than usual. With purple bags under her eyes and several newly acquired wrinkles, she looks as if she has aged greatly over this short period of time.

The woman takes a deep breath and Nemit's general dislike for her lessens. Although Ms. Abernathy despises her, Nemit can't help but feel pity towards the woman. After all, she _is_ Haymitch's mother. She must be as worried about him as Nemit is. Nemit stares at her expectantly.

Something completely out of the ordinary then happens. Ms. Abernathy shocks Nemit by slowly walking over to the bed and perching herself down, her expression unreadable. Next, after taking another deep breath, she abruptly throws her arms around Nemit and begins to sob her heart out.

Nemit is astounded but very pleased. Finally, she has gained this woman's approval. Now the more pressing matter has turned in Nemit's mind. Is this woman sobbing about good or bad news?

Nemit rubs the woman's back in what she hopes to be a soothing way as the lady gulps and sniffles. Finally, she lifts her head. Ms. Abernathy's face is red and splotchy, her eyes puffy. For a moment, she merely stares at Nemit with what almost looks like pity. Then, she takes Nemit's hand in a motherly fashion and smiles. Actually _smiles_ at Nemit.

'We better get cleaned up. He'll be home soon.'

What did she just say? What does that mean? Did those words really come out of her mouth? Perhaps Nemit isn't hearing properly.

'Wha-?'

'Nemit,' Ms. Abernathy begins. For the first time ever Haymitch's mother has said her name. She also said it without a hint of disgust. Incredible.

'He won.' She says simply, unable to sustain a joyful smile.

Nemit's eyes widen and a grin grows rapidly on her face. A genuine grin.

Haymitch has won. Haymitch is safe. Haymitch is coming home!

The two women hug and laugh and for the first time in weeks, Nemit is happy.

There is nothing in the world that could spoil her happiness. Nothing.


	15. Haymitch: Play It Cool

Haymitch doesn't even bother to pretend to examine his reflection in the full length mirror from his fancy Capitol room. He is finally free of all the injuries and scars; his skin is practically glowing it's so clean. Behind him, his stylist, Alenia, stares at him admiringly, waiting for his reaction to the new outfit. Upon meeting Haymitch, she had immediately declared him, 'Gorgeous! Simply gorgeous!' before she even had the chance to scrub him down properly. But that treatment has dramatically increased ever since he won the Quarter Quell. It's not just from his stylist either. All the females that he's come across since the arena are acting strange. The avoxes blush madly, the doctors giggle, and Dolly Lomberson, his escort, bizarrely attempts to stroke his arms and back.

Haymitch is wearing a sparkling grey suit with a jeweled orange bowtie. The outfit itself is pleasant, but he just doesn't feel like looking at himself. In fact, he doesn't think he'll ever want to see his reflection again. He knows that from now, he will always see a murderer.

He sighs and hollowly compliments Alenia's work as she gushes over him.

'What's wrong, Mitchy?' She has taken up the annoying habit of using that nickname for him. 'You nervous about tonight?'

Tonight is Haymitch's interview with Caesar Flickerman in front of a Capitol audience, broadcasting live to all of Panem. It will be the first time the country has seen him since he was in the arena. Is he nervous? No, he doesn't think so. His strategy to win the games was to act superior and he doesn't understand why he should lose this attitude now. He'll just act like he did before. Although tonight, his superiority doesn't feel very real, if that's what you'd call it before.

The arena has changed Haymitch. He now regards life with a completely different outlook. Never again will he be the same. Never will he forget the faces of the children that were murdered by each other. By him. By the Capitol. By President Snow. Every night since he has won, his sleep has been infested with dead tributes. He sees their wide, terrified eyes. Hears their tormented screams. Smells the nauseating, sticky scent of blood. He wants to vomit just thinking about it.

Needless to say, Haymitch is relieved when, before he gets to answer his stylist, his mentor, Rockwell Hogget, opens the door by a crack and whispers in his gruff voice, 'Sorry to interrupt, but can I talk to the kid for a sec?'

Silently, Haymitch follows the man out to the hallway.

'Just need to talk over some last minute interview techniques with you…' Rockwell says in an overly loud voice as he drags Haymitch by his shirt collar to a door at the end of the hall. Rockwell is a tall, hulking and dark skinned man in his mid forties. It's no wonder how he won the Games. He leads Haymitch up narrow steps and out to a breezy, outdoor balcony. His heart gives a pang. The same place where he sat with Maysilee on the interview night. The clanging of wind chimes mixed with the infinite number of honking cars and shouting people outside make this balcony a great place to play host to a secret conversation. Rockwell walks around the perimeter towards a maze of a flower garden.

'C'mere. Give me a hug for luck!' Rockwell grabs Haymitch from under his arms and squeezes him tight. He refuses to loosen his embrace. Instead, he leans forward and whispers something into Haymitch's ear.

'Listen close and hard. You're in big trouble from that stunt with the axe. You need to lay low and play it cool.'

The stunt with the ax? What was Rockwell talking about? Could that have possibly been symbolized as an act of rebellion against the Capitol? Haymitch doesn't agree with the Capitol or Snow in any way but by discovering that force field he hadn't purposely been trying to defy anybody, it was just a smart way of winning. Come to think of it, even his prep team might've mentioned it to him in passing. Apparently, _everyone _in the Capitol is talking about it. But the entire time he had been on that cliff, he had lost too much blood to notice much of anything. He hadn't meant to kill her like that. The prep team babbled on about how clever he had been to use the force field against her.

He remembers watching a particular Game when he was eight. As he recalls, the entire family of that Victor had been murdered by Snow because during the Games, she had apparently performed an act of rebellion. The boy whom she was in an alliance with was from her District and she had apparently been very close with him before they had been reaped. When he was murdered, she refused to leave his body, which prevented the hovercraft from appearing. She began to dig a deep hole in the dirt. After about a day, the hole was complete and she buried the boy's body, setting flowers on his grave. If _her_ entire family was murdered, then what will that mean for Haymitch and his family? Will he come home from the Games only to find his mother, Melmar, and Nemit dead? No, the thought is horrifying. It could not happen. It would not happen. He will not let it happen.

But how is he supposed to 'play it cool?' By acting dumb? His only defense is that he was too delusional to know what was going on with the axe. But then there is still the time he had first figured out the force field… How could he have been so stupid? Why didn't he realize that his actions would hurt not just him, but his mother and Mel and Nemit? Oh, Nemit. He misses her more than anyone. He must protect her! He must save her!

Haymitch forces out some loud and emotionless laughter and then pulls out of their hug.

'Thanks. You're a great mentor!'

'No problem, kid.'

And with that, the two leave the balcony, unaware that somebody had caught every word.


	16. Welcome Home

Nemit is running as fast as she possibly can, the pink jewel bouncing on her chest. She must get to the station. _Move feet, move!_ She urges herself on. She's going to be late!

* * *

><p>After two painstaking days and one dead tribute filled nightmare, Haymitch can finally feel the engine of the train gradually slowing is extremely eager to get home. Eager to see his mother. Eager to see Melmar. But most of all, he is eager to see past few weeks have been unbearable for him. The only reason he wanted to win was to see her again. He longs to hear her musical laughter. Longs to inhale that sweet smell of honeysuckle. Longs to see her dance freely in the forest, not a care in the world. He longs to press his lips against her own soft, warm ones without having to worry about anything. He wants to hold her, keep her safe from any harm. Just thinking about her makes his heart ache. He needs her. Without her, he is nothing, there would be no reason left in his life. Heh closes his eyes and tries to picture her in his mind like he has done every day since being reaped, conjuring up an image of angelic beauty.<p>

As the train passes through a tunnel and into the District Twelve station, he readies himself for the innumerable cameras that are sure to be eagerly waiting for his arrival. Is he prepared for all this attention? For fame? Fortune? He has just been crowned Victor of not only the Hunger Games, but of the Quarter Quell. It still hasn't really sunken into his head yet.

The train comes to a halt and his mentor and escort appear behind him, hissing last minute advice in his ears.

'Enjoy it, kid. This is a once in a life time experience.'

'But remember to keep you head!'

He feels a warm, tickling sensation on his back and realizes in alarm that Dolly Lomberson, who has plastered on so much makeup she resembles a circus clown, has placed a satin gloved hand on his shoulder.

'Just relax, Haymitch. There's nothing to worry about…' She practically purrs.

Nothing to worry about? Who is this woman kidding? No, he will definitely never get used to _this_ kind of attention. Especially from older women…

Rockwell pushes the train door open and the three are immediately engulfed by the roar of the ecstatic crowd, blinding flashes from cameras, and a copious amount of reporters. Someone has released infinite, multicoloured balloons into the air. People are everywhere he looks; hundreds of them swarm the station, their faces as bright and happy as ever. Are all of them waiting for him, Haymitch Abernathy? Does his District really care about him? He eagerly searches the crowd but cannot find her. She must be here somewhere, just hidden amongst the people.

* * *

><p>Nemit is now clutching a painful stitch forming in her chest. She is completely out of breath, but still, pushes herself on. With the intention of seeing Haymitch set in her heart, she would run to the ends of the earth if she had to.<p>

* * *

><p>Reporters grab every inch of him that they can get their hands on, shove microphones in his face, and start bombarding him with random questions.<p>

'How do you feel?'

'What's your strategy?'

'Favourite food?'

'Where's your girl?'

He ignores them all and stands on tiptoe, looking over the countless heads bobbing in the station, which are all hopefully trying to catch a glimpse of him. _Where is she?_

* * *

><p>The station is now in full view, a throng of people spilling out. She pushes through the crowd with all her might to get inside.<p>

'Excuse me… Pardon me… Sorry, sir…'

* * *

><p>'Nemit!' Haymitch shouts rather desperately through the noisily cheering crowd. He begins pushing past the reporters and through the mob. The people near him seem thrilled to be in such close proximity, to actually pat him on the back, or even wave. It doesn't matter though, he isn't paying attention.<p>

* * *

><p>She is finally mixed deeply into the crowd. The train is in full view as well is Dolly Lomberson and Rockwell Hogget but… Where is he?<p>

'Haymitch!' She shouts frantically.

'Nemit!' Someone, somewhere in the crowd, calls her name, a definite note of desperation in their voice.

* * *

><p>From a distance, he spots her. He can actually see her, mousy brown hair and all. Nemit is searching for him through the crowd, pushing forcefully past every person she encounters. With his heart lighter than air and a grin suddenly spread wide on his face, he runs to her, bumping into many joyful people on the way.<p>

'Haymitch! Haymitch!' The crowd calls his name but he longs to hear one person in particular say it instead.

'Nemit!' He calls.

'Haymitch!'

The two bump into each other and are knocked to the ground in the middle of the mass of people.

'Oh, sorry…' Nemit mutters distractedly, not looking at who she just toppled over.

It's her… it's really her…

She is looking more beautiful than ever, wearing the pink jewel and tattered polka dotted dress. He had forgotten how gorgeous she really is…

As she turns to get up, she looks him straight in the eye and abruptly stops dead in her tracks, gasping. For a moment, the two stare at each other. Haymitch hungrily looks into those pale, green Seam eyes, which are wider than ever. There are heavy, purple bags plastered underneath her eyes and she has lost a considerable amount of weight, looking scarily bony. He burns to cradle her, tell her everything is alright.

* * *

><p>Nemit cannot believe this. He is here. He is right in front of her! She slowly rises and he does the same. Neither take their eyes off each other. She takes a deep breath and looks him over. He has gotten devilishly handsome. She grins and he smirks.<p>

* * *

><p>And suddenly, she jumps into his arms, wrapping her legs tightly around his torso and arms around his neck, and they both begin to laugh and kiss at the same time, not caring that they are both out in public, in front of hundreds, probably also on camera. He buries his face into her neck and inhales the honeysuckle and pine needle scent. Fresh, just like a forest or meadow of wild flowers. He loves this girl so much it hurts. It actually hurts.<p>

* * *

><p>He smells different, like fancy Capitol cologne, the kind you pay a small fortune for a tiny ounce. His shoulders feel less broad than before and his dark, curly hair has been styled immaculately. She refuses to let go of him. Never again will she let him leave.<p>

* * *

><p>For a while, Haymitch forgets about his stunt with the axe and how much danger they are all in.<p>

They are the happiest people alive, actually believing that they will be able to live out their happily ever after...


	17. A Night To Remember

**A Night To Remember**

'And now presenting District Twelve's very own Victor of the 50th Annual Hunger Games, winner of the second Quarter Quell… HAYMITCH ABERNATHY!'

The ecstatic crowd cheers with over the top enthusiasm as Haymitch walks meekly onto the make-shift stage in the city square, pausing to wave feebly here and there. The place has been decorated especially for his arrival. Everywhere he turns there are streamers and balloons, banners and cakes, all in bright, elaborate colours and designs. The signs read phrases such as 'WELCOME HOME!' 'CONGRATULATIONS!' or 'WAY TO GO HAYMITCH!'

The people of District Twelve are in a state of utter jubilee. They have only had two Victors before him - one of which he is sure is dead - so he can imagine how everybody feels about someone like him, someone from the Seam, finally winning not only the Games, but a rare Quarter Quell too.

Throughout this past week people have been congratulating him, asking for his autograph, and randomly hugging him. Elderly women begin to sob joyfully when they meet his eye, fathers either pat his back or ruffle his hair, mothers smile knowingly and give him warm hugs, children climb on his back and hold his hands. Indeed, he is definitely not used to any of this attention. He wishes things would go back to normal and he would once again be the young boy from the Seam, ignored by all.

But the worst type of attention he is getting, at least the most uncomfortable kind, is from the girls. He cannot walk past a group of them without hearing giggles or seeing them blush madly. He can't rest at night without worrying about them trying to break into his new home in the Victor's Village. Girls used to think of him as attractive before, but now, their treatment of him is absolutely insane. He broke many hearts when he had announced that he and Nemit are a couple, although many of the girls already knew that. He tries to ignore them all. Certainly he doesn't enjoy their shenanigans and he most definitely doesn't want to upset Nemit in anyway, but she doesn't seem to mind, really. Actually, she thinks of the whole situation as rather funny, which is quite a relief to him.

Something rather strange, well, stranger than usual, happened a few days ago. He had just walked through the door of his new home in the Victor's Village when he heard the Capitol accent of Dolly Lomberson, his boorish escort, floating down the stair steps. She had been using his telephone. He paid no attention to the conversation though; Dolly is always over to use his phone these days. But he just couldn't help eavesdropping when he heard his name being tossed around along with the sound of tinkling laughter.

'Oh, yes, well… Haymitch _is_ quite the dish, now isn't he?' He could almost see the smug, suppressed smile on Dolly's face.

'I mean, have you seen those arms? I've been trying to get his attention for weeks!' She giggled girlishly.

'Yes, well, _apparently _there _is_ someone… You should see her, though! She's so gaunt and unkempt! I don't think Haymitch realizes that he can have _anyone_ he wants…'

'Yes, about that. President Snow requested a meeting with me to discuss it… Haymitch has been the most requested Victor out there, you know. Winner of the Quarter Quell and all… But we were never expecting thousands of women to place orders… That's right, _thousands!'_

'I'm a lucky girl. Being Haymitch's escort and all, the President himself told me that he would reserve the very first spot with him just for me. And half price too! I know! You're going to have to call in now if you want your time to be a reasonable amount.'

_'_I'm not sure if he would be up to it though. He's got such strong morals… Well, it's not like he'll have much of a choice though, is it?' She laughed again.

Haymitch had no idea what she was talking about, and he still doesn't. What had Dolly meant by saying he was the most requested Victor out there? Thousands of women had placed orders on what? And in what matter did he have no say in? This puzzled him for a few days, but he had soon managed to forget all about it.

He looks down at the crowd, searching through all of their adoring faces for one in particular while the mayor prattles on about his heroic victory and blah, blah, blah. He spots Nemit and winks at her with a smirk spread tight on his face. She grins.

Tonight he must attend his very formal 'Welcome Home' banquet and dance held in the Justice Building. Only the most important of people will be there. The mayor, sponsors, Dolly and Rockwell, a few Gamemakers, and of course, his family. And in a few weeks time he will be on his way for the Victory Tour, something that he really would rather not go through with. He has just gotten home from the Games, just gotten to spend some time with his mother, Melmar, and Nemit. The last thing he wants to do is separate from them for another few weeks. He has made a promise to himself that he will, from now on, keep his family safe from any harm. He must protect them all. He just got home to Nemit; he's not about to leave her again.

* * *

><p>Nemit and Haymitch smirk at each other from across the long, white clothed dining table. She is wearing the pink jewel necklace as well as a simple yet elegant, long white dress borrowed from Ms. Abernathy. Much to her humor, Haymitch just couldn't believe it when he found out about the newly made friendship between the two of them. He, on the other hand, has on a simple black suit and red bowtie and, in Nemit's opinion, looks very adorable.<p>

This whole evening, the two have been playing footsies under the table, both dying to be alone together. First, they endured a long, tedious ceremony with the mayor, then Haymitch was forced to meet and greet many of his Capitol sponsors while sipping champagne, and now they sit at the table of honor, waiting for the dance to commence. They are both completely fed up with the people and atmosphere surrounding them.

Finally, a dessert buffet begins and a chef brought from the Capitol wheels in a life size, cotton candy pink ice sculpture of none other than Haymitch himself.

'Don't you look ravishing?' Nemit guffaws, eyeing the statue.

'Shut-up,' he says, unable to suppress a playful laugh.

People are beginning to twirl with each other on the spacious dance floor as a sappy love song softy plays in the background. Nemit looks out at them all; most of these people are from the Capitol, dressed in elaborate, over the top outfits, their skin and wigs dyed eccentrically. The place looks more like a costume party than anything else. But there is something about watching these oblivious people spinning drunkenly around the place that mesmerizes her. She watches the colourful materials fly through the air as the women are dipped and twirled; combined with the gentle music, it is like being inside of a dream.

Now that people are beginning to dance, it is safe for Haymitch and Nemit to sneak away unnoticed. They interlock hands and hurriedly pass through the swaying couples towards a considerably less noisy, secluded patio, lit only by the light of the moon, leading to a courtyard full of roses and fountains. They hold hands and stroll through the garden in peace, listening to the sound of chirping crickets and tinkling music wafting through the open doors.

They come to a gentle halt by a white marble fountain, any conversation blocked to those unwelcome by the sound of softly gushing water. Nemit looks Haymitch over and he does the same with her. God, she has missed him.

'Wanna ditch?' He murmurs in her ear, while beginning to tenderly kiss her neck.

'Where to?' She asks, knowing the answer.

'My place,' he chuckles softly.

Since the day Haymitch came home, Nemit has spent her nights at his new, luxuriant home.

'Alright then, let's get out of here.' She smiles complacently to herself in the dark, knowing very well why Haymitch wants to head home with her alone while his mother and Melmar are out and distracted by the party.

The two creep away from the Justice building and hurriedly head for the Victor's Village, on their way passing no one. Standing on the doorstep of the house, he unexpectedly swoops her into the air and cradles her. She giggles and wraps her arms around his hefty neck as he kicks open the door with one leg and backs into the entranceway, no doubt trying to be romantic and humorous at the same time.

He carries her up to his spacious bedroom on the third and final floor of the house. As he sets her down by the window, her heart begins to pound as it always does at times like this. Moonlight streams through the glass and onto the both of them, serving as the only source of light. For a moment, she studies his pale face, bathed in the moon and star light. Full, tender lips that she is aching to press her own against. A reasonable amount of stubble growing on his cheeks and just above his upper lip. Come to think of it, he has a rather beaky nose too, she smiles to herself. And those eyes. Those wonderful eyes. Although plain grey, they're scattered with bright flecks of silver and gold, giving him the ultimate, dangerous Seam look.

He sways closer to her and she presses her lips against his very warm, soft ones, butterflies forming in her stomach the way they always do when the two kiss. She tussles his curly, dark hair as he gently places his hands on her waist. His warm, burly body leans into her and and she suddenly feels safer than ever, never wanting to let go. She loves this boy with all her heart.

Closing her eyes, for a moment Nemit thinks she has gone back in time to the encounter they had had the night before the reaping. The night before this mess had started.


	18. Nemit: The Nightmare

All night, Nemit has been sleeping restlessly. Tossing and turning in the darkness for hours, she barely notices when her eyes finally become heavy. And just as she is about to fall into dreams, something jolts her awake. It is a small noise but she jerks as if it were a cannon sounding. She freezes at the sound, straining her ears to decipher what it could possibly be. And then finally it is crystal clear.

The sound of muffled crying alarms her. Indeed, the whimpering is most definitely level to that of a small child. The cowardly sob stirs a sentiment deep within her heart and, with the sleep completely drained from her, she slowly slides from the covers. Her bare feet patter against the cool wood, bathed in ominous moonlight. The cry is much closer than she expected. With the door to the room directly beside her own slightly ajar, it is quite clear who has awoken her.

'Haymitch?' She whispers, her voice wavering.

The sight of him curled up on the floor, engulfed by the darkness, weeping like a scared child threatens to break her. She wills herself not to tear up herself as she steps forward, his cries piercing her heart.

'Haymitch?' She says again, trying to hide the pain she feels.

He continues to weep, giving no sign of recognition toward her. Perhaps she should just let him be? Without really thinking, her hand places itself on his quivering shoulder and refuses to budge. At her touch, he looks up, his eyes wide and scared, his cheeks drenched in tears.

'I had a bad dream.' He informs her just like a child, his lip trembling.

Her eyes are starting to well up now. At this moment, he is just so _pitiful_, nothing like the strong man she knew before the arena. She crouches down and gently pulls him over to her. He allows her to cradle him, resting his head in her lap as she strokes a strand of his hair. As he sniffles, she thinks of some way to subdue his agony. Spontaneously, her lips form a melody of words. She sings.

'_The moon is bright, the wind is unheard,_

_The night calls out words of comfort.'_

His grey eyes, reflected with moonlight, stare into her own, hanging on desperately to her soft voice, every word she sings. The tune she chose is eerie yet comforting, casting a spell over all and any who listen.

'_The sun comes up, the rooster cries,_

_Don't tremble or stir, just close your eyes'. _

Gradually, his sobs subdue to mere sniffles. And then there is nothing but the sound of his rhythmic breathing. She gently kisses his forehead.

'I'm here for you.'


	19. Some Unexpected News

'I love you.' He whispers, his warm lips brushing against her ear.

Tonight is Haymitch and Nemit's final time together; tomorrow morning he leaves for the Victory Tour. The two are sitting, hand in hand, by the light of the moon at the place where they first met: the pond in the forest. They have lazily dipped their bare feet into the cool water, Haymitch playfully bumping his own into Nemit's.

She stares down at her toes, watching them swirl around, making spirals in the water, trying to come up with enough courage to confess what she must. While she doesn't want Haymitch to leave, there are more pressing matters on her mind at this moment.

For about a week now, Nemit has been getting severe head and backaches as well as feeling more fatigued and tired than usual. Three mornings ago, she had woken up to a very nauseating feeling indeed, rushing to the bathroom only just in time to vomit.

If Nemit had a mother she supposes that she would've gone to her in this time of need and confusion but instead, she had gone to the only option she could think of. Once again, she had found herself standing in front of that crumbling, red brick home.

Zelda and Belta had exchanged a shocked look when Nemit had told them what she had been experiencing. They asked her some rather embarrassing questions and then proceeded to tell Nemit some valuable information. The first thing they had told her was that she was most likely pregnant, something that had taken Nemit completely off guard. Pregnant? How could she be pregnant? Such things happened to older women not sixteen year old girls!

Next they had explained what to expect and do for the nine months to follow. They had also told her to guard against telling Haymitch or even Ms. Abernathy until she was absolutely sure and ready. One thing they said though that she had completely disagreed with was that Haymitch might act strange or even be angered by the news. But she had refused to believe that he would ever behave in such a way. At least, up until now. _Now_ she is having her doubts…

At the time, she had felt quite comforted by the two girls, knowing that at least _they_ were there for her. But that night, she had gone home in a daze. She remembers hesitantly crawling into the satin sheets, feeling disgusted with herself, eyeing Haymitch uncertainly and lying farther away from him than normal. She lay there, trying to come to terms with herself, trying to realize the reality of this all. There was a little baby in her stomach right at that very moment…

There still is a little baby in her stomach, right at _this_ very moment, but Nemit hasn't really realized what that means yet. She looks down, purposely avoiding Haymitch's gaze. For these past few days, she has been acting less and less affectionate towards him, she doesn't really know why though. It's not as if she loves him any less. On the contrary, at night, her heart silently yearns for him to hold her. To cradle her. She wonders how he must be feeling. Confused and hurt, probably.

Haymitch takes a finger and gently raises Nemit's chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. Those eyes, the gold flecks dancing in the moonlight. The eyes that she couldn't lie to in a million years. He looks at her in a way that he has never, not once, done before. She tries to turn away but his stare is so piercing, as if he is searching her soul for an answer to a silent question, that it is impossible.

'Nemit, what's going on?' He asks finally in a quiet voice, the use of her name showing his desperation.

Say it, Nemit thinks. Say it now.

'I – I'm – Um…'

He gives her not an expectant look, but one full of pity. Don't be scared, she tells herself. He loves you.

'I think I'm… pregnant.' Nemit blurts out.

There, she has said it. She has finally said it. Now why hasn't that weight been lifted from her shoulders? She stares at Haymitch, who is strangely silent, waiting for him to say something, anything.

He is biting down on his lower lip, like he always does when nervous. His expression, apart from the obvious shock, is otherwise unreadable. He stares into nothingness.

Nemit can now see that telling Haymitch was an obvious mistake. She is so stupid! She should have waited until after the Victory Tour, then at least he would be free from this burden for a few more weeks. He has enough on his mind as it is…

Nemit can feel the tears welling up in her eyes, her throat becoming clogged and sore. Great, now she will just look like an idiot. Tears unwillingly stream down her cheeks as she unsustainably sniffles. She looks down, trying to hide her feelings. What is the matter with her? Why is she crying?

But what Haymitch does next shocks and confuses Nemit almost as much as her pregnancy. Once more, he lifts up her chin. But then he does something wonderful. He gently wipes the tears from her eyes and then kisses her so passionately that her heart aches and she can feel the butterflies in her stomach. When he finally pulls out, he smiles. Actually smiles.

'You're not mad?' Nemit exclaims.

'Mad?' Haymitch repeats. 'Why the hell would I be mad? Look…'

He kisses her fervently once more and she can feel the butterflies flutter around all over again.

'I love you.' He says fiercely. 'And nothing is ever, _ever_ going to change that, you hear me? I will _never_ leave you.'

Although he tries to hide it by turning away, Nemit catches a single tear rolling down Haymitch's cheek, glistening in the moonlight.

'And… I already love our baby so much!'

Nemit sighs in relief.

'We'll make this work, I promise. We're meant for each other.' He says quietly, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Everything is going to be alright, thinks Nemit. Haymitch and I are going to get married and live a happy life with the baby… They hold hands though look down at their feet, neither feel like talking; both are lost in their own thoughts.

Nemit wishes that Haymitch wasn't leaving tomorrow; she wants to spend more time with him, talking and laughing and kissing in the carefree way that they always do. She looks into the somewhat scared eyes of the boy beside her, trying to access his inner thoughts. Nemit commends him for acting so brave; no doubt this has been a huge shock for him…and right after the Games, right before the Victory Tour too. Oh well, at least he'll have a few weeks alone to think.

Nemit loves Haymitch more than anything in this entire world. She only hopes that their love will stay strong for the years to come.

Haymitch lies in his lavish bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep, his mind buzzing. Moonlight streams through the open window; as well does a cool, night breeze blow through, tickling his bare arms, nipping at his cheeks. He flips over to face a peacefully sleeping Nemit and listens to the sound of her soft, calm breathing, hoping that she is having the passive dreams that she deserves.

For about an hour, he watches her lie there, his eyes unable to droop. He watches the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest and listens intently whenever she begins to murmur. He loves her so much that it hurts. His heart aches for her. Every fiber of his body yearns for her, to be around her all the time. She had been acting strange this entire week and now he finally knows why. But what does he think of the news? He isn't sure if he is exactly overly ecstatic about it, but then again, it's not as if it angers him. He supposes Nemit feels the same way. But a baby… That means… Haymitch will be a father! He can't lie to himself, the idea scares him a little. But there is something inside of him, a certain comforting feeling telling him that everything is going to be alright. It is a feeling of hope. It makes him feel… well…happy. Almost excited, too. It's not as if he is a poor Seam boy anymore… The baby will have a good home. And once the stupid Victory Tour is over he'll be able to really focus on being with Nemit and caring for his future son or daughter.

He smiles contentedly to himself as he finally begins to drift off. Oh, Nemit… Oh, _baby_…

And in the morning, Haymitch is too busy to realize that that was the first night he didn't have nightmares about the Games.


	20. President Snow: Revenge

Yes, finally that idiot boy is on the Victory Tour.

President Snow gazes at the flashing screen that shows a close up of the recent Victor, Haymitch Abernathy, quietly eating a meal on the train. If only he knew the kind of power the President holds over him. What he could do to him with the push of a button. What will soon become of his pathetic little family.

The President has been waiting impatiently for months to do this. He has been watching the boy carefully from the moment he got out of that arena and now that he is on the Victory Tour, away from home, he can finally carry out his scheme. Ever since that boy found the force field, he has been plotting his revenge carefully. It is terrible; the state of things. Districts Three and Nine are already on the verge of uprisings. No matter, things will soon be hush-hush…

It took some thinking for the President to choose the best way to punish. Of course, he couldn't kill the boy in question, that would only feed the fire. But certainly, he could torture him. Then he realized that that wouldn't work either. The best and only option left was to go for the place where it hurts the most.

President Snow grins satisfactorily, pulling back crimson, bulbous lips and bearing exceedingly white, fang like teeth as he looks on at Haymitch. Poor boy. And he won't even get to father the baby…


	21. Nemit: The End

Nemit sits at the polished kitchen table next to a chattering Melmar while Ms. Abernathy dances around in search of spices, cooking some sort of rich stew on the high-tech stove, filling the kitchen with a warm, comforting aroma. Since Haymitch came back from the Games and his mother and her have come to very good terms with each other, the family has somewhat adopted Nemit. She stays over at the house every night and Melmar is basically obsessed with her.

Early this morning, Haymitch left for the Victory Tour, promising Nemit that he would be back for she knows it. They had exchanged a hasty, lingering kiss in front of the camera, Haymitch secretly patting her stomach and winking, and then he was off. It's only been a few hours since he left but Nemit already misses him terribly. She doesn't want to lose him again.

She listens to the sound of Melmar's voice and Ms. Abernathy's tuneful humming, trying to ignore her pounding headache, contemplating whether to reveal the secret. She sits hunched in her chair, elbows on the edge of the table, rubbing her sore temple. Would Ms. Abernathy get mad at her? Would she go back to treating her like before?

'What's wrong, dear?' She asks kindly, seeing the anxious look on Nemit's face.

Nemit takes a deep breath.

'It's nothing…'

Ms. Abernathy stares at her pointedly.

'Young lady, don't you hide secrets from me!' The resemblance to what would probably be Nemit's mother is uncanny.

'Promise you won't get mad?'

'I promise.' She answers solemnly.

'Alright then…' Nemit begins, preparing herself for the story.

'Mel! Upstairs!' Ms. Abernathy says firmly to her son, pointing towards the door.

'Awwww!' He groans, dragging himself from the room.

'Alright Nemit.' She says once they were alone. 'What's this all about? I've noticed you've been acting strange for about a week now. Are you sick?'

'No.' Sighs Nemit. She might as well just say it straight out. 'I'm pregnant.'

Ms. Abernathy, who is in the middle of stirring her stew, stops dead in her tracks, the ladle dangling in mid air.

'Oh.' She says in a strange voice.

She turns around, bearing pursed lips and a completely unreadable expression. What is it that Nemit sees in those eyes identical to Haymitch's? Is it shock? Anger? Sadness? She just can't tell... Nemit can feel herself blushing, the redness in her cheeks burning. She looks down at her feet in embarrassment.

Then, Ms. Abernathy does something completely unexpected. She walks over to Nemit, who is now standing, and embraces her tightly with warm, open arms. They hug like mother and daughter, a certain emotional connection coming between them.

'I'm here for you.' She whispers in Nemit's ear.

At that exact moment, there is a tremendous pounding on the front door, and both Ms. Abernathy and Nemit jump apart at the sound.

'I'll get it…' A sniffling Ms. Abernathy begins walking towards the door, wiping her eyes of tears.

But before she has even gotten out of the kitchen, there is a thunderous bang followed by the sound of heavy, hurried footsteps and many crashing noises, like braking glass.

'What the hell is going on..?' Ms. Abernathy mutters to herself as she goes to find the cause of all the commotion. People, who have clearly forced entry upon house, are beginning to shout aggressively in loud, carrying voices.

Nemit stands rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do. _Something_ is obviously wrong… She listens to the sound of multiple pounding footsteps form the floor above, waiting for Ms. Abernathy to come back. All of a sudden she hears a screech unlike any other coming from the upstairs. Nemit's head snaps up to the ceiling in alarm. Is someone hurting Ms. Abernathy? She has no idea; all she registers is that she needs to get help, and fast.

'PLEASE! NO! STOP! STOP!'

There's no time to get help elsewhere, from outside of the Victor's Village. Nemit bolts through the house in a panicked state, trying to navigate her way to the stairs, bumping into much furniture on the way. The terrified scream is getting louder. She takes the stairs two at a time and is now able to hear a distressed child crying out in pain. Oh no…Melmar!

Nemit rushes down the hall, her brow sweating and a fresh wave of horror washing over her. She is now looking down upon the nearly dead, crippled body of a small blond boy twitching uncontrollably. Melmar is spewing blood, his clothes drenched in sticky red, while his smashed glasses are lying on the ground. Bruises cover his frail body as he twitches uncontrollably. Immediately, Nemit shakily drops down to her knees, hardly believing her eyes, not knowing what to do. All she can register is shock. This cannot be happening.

'Melmar!' She whispers desperately, laying a hand on his blood soaked chest. 'Mel! Can you hear me? Who did this to you?'

Melmar, who is incapable of responding, has the question answered for him by Ms. Abernathy and several strapping young people in white uniforms. Peacekeepers. But they are not the District Twelve kind. These Peacekeepers are brutal looking, with expressions of steel plastered across their faces. Most definitely they are from the Capitol.

'MY BABY!' Screams Ms. Abernathy, who has a throbbing black eye. She rushes to her son as Nemit stares in disbelief at the intruders.

'What do you want?' She whispers in terror, trying to hold her balance on what all of a sudden seems to be a very unstable floor.

They say nothing, instead though, about two of them drag a sobbing Ms. Abernathy by the hair towards a room down the hall and slam the door shut. Nemit can hear shrieks of pain issuing from the room.

Should she run? Try to help Ms. Abernathy? Attend to Melmar? Nemit has no idea. But before she can make up her terrified mind, a very brutal, broad shouldered man steps up to her and begins to wantonly lick his lips. He grins maliciously, bearing incredibly yellow teeth.

'Hey there, precious. Are you ready to have some fun?' He speaks in a cruel, rough voice.

Nemit merely gulps. Even though she is fast, it would be unwise to flee or even fight back. There are still about seven other Peacekeepers surrounding her and they are all armed to the teeth with expensive, deadly looking weapons. But why are they here? What have we done wrong? Thinks Nemit.

The man grabs her wrist forcefully with thick fingers and pulls her towards him. She quivers, feeling his hot, foul smelling breath against her quivering neck.

'C'mere princess…' And still keeping a firm grasp on her, he drags Nemit into a bedroom, throws her vehemently to the ground, and slams the door shut.

Throughout all this horror, Nemit can still hear the sound of Ms. Abernathy's agonizing scream echoing through the entire house, blocking out her own as well as the man's laughter.

She barely realizes what is going on. He strips off her clothes and everything is a blur. Is he done? Has he finished violating her? Make it stop.

There is intense, fiery pain in every place imaginable. Her body is raw and bruised. She is soon lying in a pool of her own blood. She receives a blow to the head. The world is slipping away, faster and faster. Something heavy hits her back multiple times and she can distinctly hear the crackle of a bone. She shuts her eyes and can barely feel anything anymore. She is spinning, round and round she goes. She barely registers shouting voices; they sound far, far away as if coming from inside a tunnel. Finally, somebody turns her body over and vigorously kicks her stomach. No! Stop! Stop! She can taste bile rising in her throat.

And then… there is nothing.


	22. Haymitch: Deal With It

Haymitch yells at the sight of Maysilee's lifeless, mangled body, the scars from the deadly, pink birds fresh and vivid, sprawled in front of him once again. He springs from the bed, ready to fight, ready to feel the coarse, moist forest floor beneath his bare feet.

But as he lands to the ground he feels cold, hard wood. He hears not the chirping crickets or rustling of leaves, but the soft chug of the train. Maysilee's body has disappeared; in her place is an assortment of plush furniture, engulfed by the darkness. For a moment, Haymitch stands in confusion, fear and adrenaline still pumping through him.

As he sinks back down into the bed, shivering and dripping sweat, Haymitch slowly begins to grasp what just happened. He has been haunted by these nightmares ever since the arena. It has become impossible for him to sleep at night; every time he closes his eyes he relives the horror of the Games. Sometimes Maysilee is not the only one he watches die. On occasion he will see Melmar, his mother, or even Nemit sprawled in a pool of their own blood, the marks from the birds etched onto their necks. They are safe, he reminds himself constantly. They are safe and warm in their beds back in District Twelve. There is no need to worry about them…

But are they really safe? The words of Haymitch's mentor, Rockwell Hogget, echo in his mind. 'Listen close and hard. You're in big trouble from that stunt with the force field. Play it cool.' Play it cool? Haymitch still has no idea how he is supposed to do that. He barely even knows what it means! Since that one encounter, Rockwell, or any of the others for that matter, hasn't said anything else to him about the subject.

For the past week, Haymitch has just focused on getting this Victory Tour over with. He has attended all the ceremonies and banquets half heartedly, not really paying attention to anything. Lately, the only thing that has been on his mind if Nemit and the baby… But Haymitch _has_ noticed the peculiar expressions on the faces of those in the Districts. Each of the crowds look at him in a certain way, one that has never been used to greet any other Victor. When they cheer his name, it sounds more like a desperate cry for vengeance than anything else.

Finally, tomorrow they will be reaching the Capitol. And Haymitch knows for a fact that the people there will not act odd towards him. Well, odder than usual. Swimming in money, their children never sacrificed, the idea of a rebellion to them would be preposterous.

Haymitch knows that it will be impossible for him to go back to sleep. He can never sleep after a nightmare. He can't remember the last time he got a full night's sleep, the last time his dreams have been passive and untouched by horror. The darkness of the room makes him feel uneasy, reminding him even more of his feelings during the Games. He looks around wearily; anything could be lurking in the shadows…

He gets up to turn on the light, no longer sleepy. But as he reaches the switch, he can hear the patter of footsteps, as well as a pair of intense whispers hissing about something heated just outside his door. Normally he is not an eavesdropper, but curiosity gets the better of him when he hears someone drop his name in the argument.

'Should we tell him?' A low, female voice murmurs. It lacks the Capitol accent, ruling out the possibility of Dolly Lomberson.

'Are you crazy? It would destroy him! Just let the kid have a few more weeks of peace at heat!' Says Rockwell in a heated tone.

'But Haymitch is so tough! I think he has the right to know as soon as possible!'

'Look, all I know is that this wasn't some accident! It was purposely planned to happen now, right on the Tour. This, right here is exactly what they want!'

Haymitch stands immobile in the darkness, his face expressionless and breathing shallow as he wills his ears to pick up every little detail.

'So what's gonna happen next?' The woman whispers under her breath.

There is a long pause after this question. Rockwell seems lost for words.

'He's just gotta deal with it…' Haymitch can almost see the pained expression on his mentor's face.

And with that, Haymitch can hear the two's departing footsteps, along with separate doors slamming shut. What was _that_ all about? Peace of heart? What's he going to have to deal with? Haymitch flicks the light switch up, allowing his eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness. He sinks down to the floor, his back leaning against the wall, his head swarming with possibilities. Is it trouble in the Districts? The Capitol? Was there an uprising? Or worse, was there trouble back in his own District? Haymitch gulps. The thought of his mother, Mel, or Nemit hurt or possibly… No, they can't be dead, he tells himself firmly. That's impossible.

And for the rest of the night, even through the early hours of the morning where the sun begins to poke through the drapes, Haymitch sits rooted to the spot on the floor, the bright light still blaring, his head pounding.


	23. Haymitch: Play Dumb

'Did you sleep well last night, Haymitch?' Ask Dolly as she drops heaping teaspoons of sugar into her coffee.

Haymitch merely grunts. To be honest, his head is throbbing in pain from lack of sleep. On top of overhearing his mentor's secret conversation and the nightmares, he still has the end of the Victory Tour, Nemit and the baby, and also the threat of rebellion, (Play it cool?), to worry about. He sinks down into a chair and stares at the feast set in front of him, not feeling like eating, while Dolly's increasingly dreary voice attempts to make conversation with his stylist and mentor. He tries to tune her out.

They will be arriving at the Capitol in a bit over an hour. Haymitch will be spending his remaining time on the train with his prep team, getting ready for his interview with Caesar Flickerman and the most elaborate party yet to come, held in the President's mansion. Honestly, he just wants to go home. He has no interest in this Victory Tour. No interest in grinning cheerfully to the families whose children he murdered, while they are forced to celebrate. No interest in that, let alone with the stupidity of the Capitol citizens.

'Oh and Haymitch, I almost forgot!' Grins Dolly. 'You, young man, have an appointment with the President tonight.'

Haymitch's head shoots up, while he can hear the clatter of Rockwell's fork fall to the plate. 'What?'

'I know! I know! He requested to see you _personally_! Can you believe that? He wouldn't tell me what it's all about but I can hardly doubt that it's good news…' She acts as if this is some big treat.

Rockwell and Haymitch catch eyes. The man slowly shakes his head. A meeting with President Snow? Does this have anything to do with the conversation Haymitch overheard last night?

'And remember Haymitch,' Says Dolly in a matter of fact tone, looking at him rather sternly. 'This is the _President_. So please! Mind your manners!'

The next hour is a blur of getting ready for the Capitol. Haymitch isn't really paying attention as his prep team forces him into a tub of foul smelling water, lathers his lower face, chest , and underarms with a tangerine cream, and force him into his stylist's, Alenia's, outfit, a forget-me-not blue suit with a sparkly, egg yolk yellow bowtie. In no time at all, Haymitch is pretending to look at his reflection in the mirror, his body reeking of oranges, his chest, face, and underarms smooth and hair free.

Just before he steps out into the Capitol crowd, having arrived at the station, Rockwell rushes up to him.

'Listen kid.' His eyes dart around the room and he lowers his voice. 'Good luck today, alright?' He holds out a hand for Haymitch to shake.

Haymitch, a little surprised, takes the hand. But he feels something different. Instead of Rockwell's rough skin, he feels a flimsy, crumpled substance in the palm of his hand. He looks up into the knowing eyes of his mentor. He allows the slip of paper to pass into his own hand and immediately lets it fall into his pocket. Rockwell pats him on the back and walks off.

Soon enough, Haymitch is shoved out of the train by Dolly, past the reporters ('Smile! Smile!' She hisses in his ear), and is husked into a white car with tinted windows. Dolly babbles on about who knows what as they pass through the crowded streets of the Capitol. It is extremely difficult for the car to maneuver around all the ecstatic people cheering his name. Finally, they pull up next to the training centre.

The interview with Caesar goes extremely well. The crowd is thrilled with all of Haymitch's short, monotonic answers. Even though he has no sponsors to win over, he has still kept up the superior attitude. It just makes things a bit easier. At one point though, Caesar asks about him and Nemit's future together and he almost lets slip the news about the baby.

When President Snow goes up to the stage to congratulate Haymitch, they shake hands while he is engulfed by the sickening scent of roses and something else… something foul that he can not exactly put his foot on… As he looks into the President's snakelike eyes, Haymitch remembers their meeting tonight. Are they going to talk about a possible rebellion? What could be so important?

The party that follows these events is, in Haymitch's opinion, quite tedious. He is forced to write autographs, take pictures, accept congratulations graciously and also kiss the countless papery cheeks of the increasingly tipsy Capitol citizens. Strangely enough, the food and drinks are not interesting Haymitch this evening; he supposes he is too worried thinking about his meeting with Snow to eat.

The champagne is obviously taking its toll on a few dozen people. One plump old woman actually requested a piggy back ride from him. This whole night he has just been keeping to himself, not seeking anybody out. He lazily watches the drunken dancers twirl around to a more upbeat musical number and wishes he were home with Nemit. He prays that whatever President Snow has to say to him has nothing to do with his family. He tries to convince himself that it will be good news, although the chances of that are next to none. He spots Rockwell in the crowd, conversing lightly with a tall, colourful couple. If only he could have a real conversation with Rockwell about all that's going on! But everything they say and do here is monitored, he thinks to himself bitterly. But maybe if – The note! Haymitch suddenly remembers. Should he read it now?

Just then he sees Dolly, champagne glass in hand, quickly wadding her way through the crowd toward him.

'Haymitch, dear!' She begins, out of breath. 'Are you ready for Snow?'

Haymitch sighs and follows Dolly from the room, bumping into many people along the way, who seem, by this point, too drunk to even notice that their guest of honour is leaving. As soon as they are out in the hallway, it is like a breath of fresh air. He is extremely relieved to get away from all the noise and people, even if it is to hear bad news from the President.

As the two walk through the halls, Dolly is, like always, prattling on about this and that, while he tries to ready himself for what is to come. He allows her to get a few steps in front of him, (she continues talking as if he were right beside her), and shoves his hand into his jacket pocket, pulling out the tiny, crumpled piece of paper. With shaky hands, he unfolds it to see a hurried sprawl.

'_Remember to play dumb.'_

They have finally arrived. The President's door is less than an inch away from them. This is it, thinks Haymitch.

'Alright, now. Remember to mind your manners! Say please and thank you!' Dolly shouts last minute reminders as she strolls back down the hall.

Haymitch stares at the polished, maroon door, dumbfounded. Should he knock? Just as he raises his fist though, the door swings open to a marvelous study. The ceiling must be at least forty feet high, decorated with painted leaves and fruit. Books upon books line the walls; there are small spiral staircases attached at every end of the room, leading up to the shelves. Lining an entire wall, there is a humungous, merrily crackling fire emitting a warm yet ominous glow, complete with a hearth rug and two cushiony, red velvet arm chairs. Haymitch has the unpleasant feeling he knows who is behind one of them.

'Welcome, my dear boy. Please step forward.'

Haymitch reluctantly obeys the rich voice. He walks over to the hearth, counting his footsteps which echo on the hard wood, and stares down into the familiar, snake like eyes of President Snow.

The President grins venomously at Haymitch with swollen, red lips while quaintly sipping a delicately patterned cup of tea. The overwhelming stench of roses and – is it blood? – fills Haymitch's nostrils.

'Sit down, sit down! I'm not going to bite!' He says lightly. Haymitch silently obeys but doesn't fully believe him.

'Enjoying the party?' He asks once Haymitch is seated precariously.

Haymitch simply grunts.

The President chuckles. 'So, Hay-mitch. Do you know why you're here?'

Haymitch doesn't reply.

'I see how it's going to be. Let me make one thing clear boy. You aren't going to get yourself anywhere by, ah-hem, _playing dumb_.'

Haymitch's eyes become wide. Does Snow know about the note? Or was that just a coincidence? He watches the flames dance in the President's eyes, making them look deadlier than ever. That was no mistake. In return, Haymitch forces a grin.

'Absolutely, sir.'

'Good! Now Haymitch.' He sets his mug beside on a small, circular table, beside a vase containing a single, white rose. 'You are from District Twelve, is that correct?'

Haymitch nods his head, taken aback.

'And how many people would you say live in your District alone?'

'Thousands?' He answers, not quite sure where this conversation is going.

'Thousands? Why yes, that's true!' says President Snow in mock surprise. 'Now imagine thousands times twelve. Why, that equals almost one million people!

'Now picture the Capitol. Picture Peacekeepers. Picture me. How does authority here compare in size to District people like yourself?'

'Not so large, I suppose.'

'You suppose… Haymitch, this nation is built on fear and fear alone. The Districts have yet to realize that they outnumber the Capitol one hundred to one! If one boy, _one boy_, from District 12 rebels against us, then what's to say that that one won't turn to hundreds? Turn to thousands! Do you understand?'

'Yes.'

'Now there is only one solution. We need to show the world that that one boy never got away with his little act of rebellion. Show the world that _no one_ can get away with rebellion. And how do you think we will achieve that?'

'You're going to kill me.' Haymitch answers simply.

'Kill you? I wouldn't dream of it! Your death would only feed the flames.' A malicious grin is beginning to creep up on the President's face.

'But then you could only…' Haymitch gasps, the horrible truth sinking in on him. 'No. No! Please kill me! Kill me! Not my family! They did nothing to deserve it! Please!'

Snow chuckles. 'Oh my dear boy! You don't know the least of it…'

He picks up a small remote from the table and points it at the wall above the fire. Immediately a television screen appears. It flashes momentarily and then shows something horrifying. Screaming. Loud, terrified screaming emits from the speakers while Haymitch sees three people getting beaten to death with clubs by Peacekeepers. Two women and one child. All covered in blood. The small, blond boy withers on the ground, his glasses in pieces beside him. And one woman, though stained with blood, has on a short, auburn polka dotted dress just like –

'NO!'

Haymitch is not seeing this. It cannot be possible. It is not possible! He watches helplessly as a monstrous Peacekeeper grabs Nemit and throws her into a room, shrieks of pain echoing from his mother. He tries to think of some way that he can help. Make it stop.

Snow laughs manically. 'It just had to be done. Don't worry, you'll get over it…' he says as he takes another sip of tea.

'Please! Tell them to stop! Please!' Haymitch pleads desperately with the President, his throat rapidly becoming tighter.

What he sees next is unbearable. He can no longer look at the screen. That man is _torturing_ Nemit. Doing things that haven't even been done in the Games! Forcing her clothes off and –

'STOP! MAKE IT STOP!' He screams at Snow, tears now streaming down his face.

The President quite calmly takes another sip of tea. 'Come now Haymitch, there are plenty of other women…'

And suddenly Haymitch is livid. Hate surges through him like never before. He wants to hurt Snow in every possible way he can. He wants to make sure that this man has a violent, brutal death. He wants to murder Snow.

The President smirks. 'Going to kill me, Haymitch?' he says as if he had just read his thoughts.

'YOU SICK BASTARD!'

Now beyond seething, he grabs the vase containing the white rose and hurls it at the screen. It shatters into dozens of pieces yet doesn't damage anything. Next, he picks up the small, circular table and throws it across the room with as much force as he can muster. Through all this, he can still hear Nemit's screams.

Someone turns her twitching body over and jams their foot into her stomach fiercely. And then, just like that, she is limp and silent. The screen goes blank.

'Maybe it's better this way. The three of them would've died in the Games anyways…' says Snow, still grinning, hands folded on his lap.

And without looking back, without worrying about anything else, Haymitch runs from the room before he passes out.


	24. Haymitch: Grieving

Haymitch is running away. Far, far away. He is suddenly clear of all emotion except for sorrow, which clings on to him and, from now on, always will. His world is collapsing right before his eyes, shattering into tiny, unfixable pieces. He cannot think, cannot _breathe. _There are too many things to ponder on, too many terrifying thoughts. So many bad memories. He just can't handle it.

There is too much shock to even cry. He still doesn't believe what he just saw. He had thought that they were safe, thought that it was impossible! A part of him still doesn't believe it. Any of it. Perhaps he'll soon wake up, warm in his bed, snuggled under the covers next to her beautiful, unharmed figure, only to realize that this is all just a bad dream. Perhaps tomorrow he will wake up to find himself in a world where there are no Hunger Games. No Capitol. No hurt.

He flies down narrow corridors, taking all sorts of twists and turns at random, not bothering to remember which way he goes. He constantly stumbles to the ground, not really paying attention to anything.

Everything soon becomes lopsided and hazy. The world is spinning, hurling out of control. Faster and faster it goes. Haymitch is starting to run sideways. One hallway soon turns to three. There is a constant, high-pitched buzzing noise growing in his left ear. Sharp flashes of bright, colourful light begin to blind his vision. He is sinking to the ground. Falling…falling…

He is vaguely aware of several men, (or is it just one?), now standing in the hall. A broken, somewhat appalled scream issues from a colourful figure. A harsh, deep voice shouts something, the sound coming as if from a distant tunnel.

Haymitch has passed out before he hits the floor.

There is a sensation of being carried, of slowly moving through the air. Hurried, unrecognizable whispers hiss at him through the impenetrable darkness. Then, it all suddenly stops. He is lying somewhere extremely soft and warm.

He is vaguely aware of a gentle tugging at his feet, but nothing else. The haziness still overwhelms him, forbidding him to even think. He has absolutely no idea of where he is. He has absolutely no idea of _who_ he is… He knows that he is alive. He knows that he can hear, can feel. But nothing else.

Finally, he discovers the gift of sight. He experimentally opens one eye and is immediately blinded by a bright light streaming through a crack in what seems to be the doorway. Otherwise, this room is engulfed in darkness. There is a dull, repetitive thump of what sounds like footsteps out in the hall. They are nearing him every second.

Haymitch is aware of a thick figure stands in the doorway, momentarily obscuring the light. Their face is covered with shadows; it is impossible to make out who they are. The door snaps shut, cutting off all light, swallowing the entire room in thick darkness. The person slowly takes long, hard footsteps towards him. They pull up a nearby chair and, even though it is hard to see, stare Haymitch straight in the eye.

'I'm sorry, son.' says a hard, gruff voice after a little while.

So Rockwell has come to visit him. But what is he sorry about?

'Where are we?' asks Haymitch, his voice slightly hoarse.

'Train. We're on our way home.'

Home. District Twelve. Where his family is probably waiting for –

'No. I can't go back there.' He says in a pained voice. He had completely forgotten about the horror that surrounds him. That will, from now on, _always_ surround him. For a few glorious minutes, he had actually thought that there is nothing wrong. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to grieve about.

'Where you gonna go then, huh?'

'I don't know. I'll run away. Live in the woods.'

'Pfft. Yeah right.'

Rockwell rises from the chair and leaves the room without another word. There had been an unmistakable look of sorrow swimming in his eyes.

Haymitch lies in the darkness, staring into nothingness, his head pounding. He still doesn't believe it. He knows that he won't believe until he sees them in District Twelve, but does he really want to? It just can't be true. It _can't_ be true. He tries to imagine living in a world without his family. His mother... Melmar…_ Nemit_… Dead. But he still hasn't realized what that means yet.

He unwillingly pictures his family being tortured by the deadly band of Peacekeepers. Their screams had been blood curdling. The three had soon turned unrecognizable from bruises and lashes. _She_ had soon lost the will to fight back, knowing her situation to be hopeless. What must that be like? Her scream had pierced his ears, calling him out to protect her. But he hadn't saved her. He hadn't been there. He had promised her that he would never leave her, promised that he would always keep her safe! But he has broken that promise and now she is _dead_, all because of him!

He can feel the tears welling up in his eyes as well as well as his throat closing with a familiar burning sensation. He will never, _ever _be able to forgive himself for this. Because he knows that no matter what anybody says, no matter how hard he'll try to convince himself otherwise, it will always be his fault. Always.

For the rest of the night, Haymitch sobs. He weeps like he has never done before in his entire life. This cry is unlike the time right after he had been reaped. No, that sob had been self-absorbed and childlike. But this, this is different. It is full of a certain anguish, a certain sorrow. He craves the gentle, comforting touch of his mother, to laugh with Melmar like the brothers they were meant to be, to hold Nemit in his arms and tell her everything will be alright. But all that is impossible now.

How is he ever going to live without them? Without his true love? Without ever holding his child? His child…

The sobs wash over him in waves of different grieving thoughts, each time affecting him in a different way, triggering a different regret, breaking his heart into smaller and smaller pieces.

He is forced to replay those terrifying scenes the President had shown him. They play in his mind like a repeated film, vivid and in full detail, each time getting more and more painful to watch. Over and over again he sees a withering Melmar sprawled in a pool of his own blood, his terrified mother being dragged by her hair, Nemit's delicate frame being crushed by that Peacekeeper. And it's all his fault. All because of him.

But there is something that Snow had said at the end of the meeting that slightly puzzles Haymitch.

'Maybe it's better this way. The three of them would've died in the Games anyways…'

He had said the _three_ of them. Of course he had meant Mel and Nemit, but his mother would've been too old to qualify for the reaping. Perhaps Snow had meant –

And then Haymitch understands. The President had been talking about his future child. But is it better this way? Surely, he would not want to subject his child to the Games, subject them to the suffering he had endured during those long, painful weeks in the arena. But it still isn't fair. That baby deserved to be loved, to grow, to be happy, even if it would only be for a few years.

The sobs have gradually turned to silent tears. He takes quivering, heaving breaths, hiccupping slightly now and then, as the warm, salty fluid streams down his cheeks. He bites down on his lower lip so hard that blood is soon drawn.

Haymitch has lost the will to live. He will never be the same. Take away his family, take away Nemit, and he has no idea who he is or his purpose in life. They had been the only reason he had wanted to win the Games. But now he realizes that it had all been for nothing.

You can't win with the Capitol. With Snow. Being a Victor doesn't necessarily mean that you're safe, that you've won. On the contrary, it means that the Games have just begun.


	25. Haymitch: Flashback

Haymitch is twelve years old.

The two children lazily lounge in a shady patch by the pond, which has become something of their secret meeting place this past year. It is a sanctuary for both of them. A place where they can talk freely, sharing their most intimate secrets, not a care in the world.

The late morning sun beats down heavily upon them, causing this to be one of their lazier days. The humidity is making them both feel rather stupid and dazed.

The two bask in the shade of the trees, barely saying a word to each other, specks of light breaking through the leafy branches that obscure the cloudless sky.

Nemit lies on the sun baked, earthy floor, hands behind her back, her filthy shirt sleeves and tattered pants rolled up to the max, exposing pale, boney arms and legs. Her eyes are shut tightly as Haymitch watches her hungrily. She is the strangest, most beautiful creature he has ever seen in his entire life.

From afar, he inspects every part of her body, from her short and tangled, mousy hair to her tiny, delicately curved baby toes. The glowing sunlight illuminates every one of her angelic features. He slowly crawls towards her on his hands and knees, careful not to split any branches, and suddenly something jolts in his stomach. He has found something unexplainable and startling, something he has never noticed before. There, plastered onto her ghostly white body, are several bruises in deep shades of green and purple, running down her lower calves and inner thighs. The same goes for parts of her arms and neck.

He pokes her awake and her eyes open to slits, squinting in the immediate brightness of the sun.

'What?' she says irritably.

'What's all that?' asks Haymitch, pointing to the marks with a shaky hand, the panic clearly rising in his voice.

She tilts her head down to look at her damaged legs and instantly blushes a dull pink.

'That's nothing!' she snaps, quickly rising from her spot.

She hurries away from him towards the direction of the pond, stripping down and whipping her raggedy clothes to the ground. Once she takes off her undershirt, Haymitch gasps and is startled to see how severe her injuries really are. Her entire back is covered in several long and angry, red slashes. He has no idea what to think, what to do.

As she splashes into the cool water, causing the stillness to turn to furious ripples, he catches her by the arm before she can go any further.

'Let me go!' She grunts in frustration, struggling to release his firm grasp on her wrists, drenching him in the process.

She thrashes around until finally the two topple over into the water, Haymitch still fully clothed, Nemit in nothing but a pair of grungy undershorts. Once they are both soaked, she finally gives up her struggles.

He sits in the shallow water, breathing heavily, his legs spread apart with an apprehensive looking Nemit caught in-between them. Her practically naked body quivers against him as he inspects her arms, legs, and back.

'Who did this to you?' He finally asks in an unsteady voice, eyes brimming with tears at the sight of her injuries.

She gulps. 'It's nothing.'

Once again, she tries to free herself from his grip but he refuses to let her go.

He gently places his hands underneath her arms and easily turns her around to face him. She looks extremely pitiful, resembling a scared, baby animal, wet, skinny, and trembling, her eyes bulging and back hunched, damp hair falling across her face. She doesn't bother trying to cover her bare chest; she is so thin, it's completely flat. Her pale green eyes, red from tears, stare into his own bright, grey ones, reflecting the pain and sorrow he is now feeling.

He finally releases his clutch and she slowly turns back around, relaxing her body against him. She sinks between his legs as he lightly wraps his arms around her, pressing her close, resting his chin on her shoulder. He holds her like the small, nervous child she is.

'I'll never let anybody hurt you again. I'll keep you safe forever. Promise.' he whispers in her ear.


	26. Haymitch: A Place To Stay

'Haymitch! What the hell are you doing in there? Your prep team is waiting! You've only gotten an hour to get ready!'

The voice of an infuriated, desperate Dolly Lomberson calls from the hallway. She repeatedly raps her knuckles against the wood of the locked door as hard as she dares, most likely not wanting to chip a nail or damage her surgically altered skin.

Inside the bedroom though, Haymitch is immobile on the bed, lying in the exact same position he had kept all night. His eyelids, which are ever so red and swollen, ache to close; there are defined dark, purple bags underneath them. But yet he refuses to sleep, not being able to risk falling into the nightmares. His eyes stay fixated on a spot on the wall, hardly even blinking, just like they have been for the past seven hours. His expression is completely blank. The imprints of dried tears are still visible on his rough, reddened cheeks.

He can hear Dolly curse under her breath as she clomps down the hall, most likely going to get Rockwell. But doesn't she know that it isn't worth it? Haymitch won't be moving anytime soon. Even if he wanted to, it would be impossible.

He can hear the frantic, combined shouts of his mentor, escort, and stylist. His prep team pleads for him to open the door. But he barely hears any of them.

'You better open this damn door _right now_, boy!' shouts Rockwell angrily, his voice rising with every word. He bangs against the wood in frustration.

The doorknob is roughly jiggled by each person but with no luck whatsoever. Finally, someone decides to fetch one of the train attendants. The woman swiftly unlocks the door with a swipe of a plastic card and Haymitch's stylist, escort, mentor, and prep team all fall on top of each other through the doorway, cursing their heads off.

Once they see him though, a certain hush falls over the crew. Haymitch hadn't even looked up when they had all burst through the door. They watch his motionless figure with weary eyes, unsure of what to do.

'Haymitch!' begins Dolly in an irritated voice. 'Get up!'

'Leave him be.' says Rockwell sharply.

'Everybody out.' He orders suddenly, pointing at the door.

And slowly, one by one, they file out of the room, shooting Haymitch one last pained look as they go. Now it is just the two of them. Rockwell gently shuts the door and begins to walk over to him.

Haymitch stays frozen, not making any sign of recognition towards his mentor.

'…Listen boy.' Begins Rockwell quietly in an extremely hesitant voice.

'I know it's hard. Nobody should ever have to deal with all the bullshit you've been through. But… you gotta stay strong. They've already done so much. Don't let them take away who you are. Stay sane… for her.' His voice grows more and more pained as he goes on.

He looks at Haymitch like never before, his face full of something on the lines of pity.

'Just think about that, okay?'

And then he leaves, shutting the door behind him, without even worrying if Haymitch had been listening.

After a few minutes, or perhaps a few years, he slowly rises from his position. His head pounds, though his face still remains hard and expressionless as he dresses little by little. He must break down each task into small steps in order to go through with them. He buttons his shirt and ties his shoes with shaky hands.

He purposely dodges the mirror as he turns to leave the room. He doesn't intend to look at his reflection ever again. He takes soft steps down the long corridor towards the foyer where his crew sits around a circular table, anxiously awaiting him.

'Oh, well look who decided to finally show up!' says Dolly in an aggravated voice, rising from her seat with a hand on her hip.

'Shut-up,' says his mentor harshly.

Haymitch doesn't say anything. He silently chooses a seat separated from the rest of the group, barely noticing that they are all staring at him expectantly.

'Ah-hem, well Haymitch, I do expect an apology from you…to all of us,' begins Dolly huffily.

'I think that you're being extremely selfish; you aren't taking any of us into consideration! Your prep team has absolutely no time to make you over! We'll be arriving at the station in less than ten minutes!'

Her words mean absolutely nothing to him.

Everyone spends the remaining ten minutes on the train by regarding him as a bomb that might go off at any moment. None of them, except perhaps Rockwell, understand what he is going through.

Finally they have pulled up to the station. Haymitch does not wave or smile at any of the reporters. He remains silent the entire journey to the mayor's mansion, where the celebrations and feast will take place.

The evening is a blur of events that make no sense. While he is there physically, his mind is on a far off, lonesome land. He is forced to sit through speeches, shake hands, and accept congratulations. Most people don't even notice his vow of silence; they are all too caught up in themselves. During the feast, which features all of his favourite dishes, he barely even nibbles on a crust of bread. Finally, when the music begins to play and he realizes that neither Nemit nor his mother is there to take the first dance with him, he is forced to retreat outside and deal with his threatening tears and throbbing head.

Glowing spheres of light string around the many marble fountains and genetically modified rose bushes while crickets happily chirp through the leaves. The garden is decorated exactly like the night of the party Haymitch attended before the Victory Tour. _The one with Nemit… _The tears begin to well up in his eyes all over again. And suddenly, he can't take it anymore. He can't take acting fake. He can't take the Capitol. President Snow. The Hunger Games. He wants to scream, to curse, to run away. To die.

He decides to leave, not bothering to act stealthy or be quiet. He slowly walks down the empty streets of District Twelve, kicking pebbles as he goes, feeling like the saddest, loneliest person in the world. Mother… Melmar… _Nemit…_ The warm tears stream down his cheeks in excessive amounts.

Finally, he reaches the place where his feet have carried him. The Victor's Village. He walks in the direction of his old house, his lonely footsteps echoing on the gravel. Extreme misery overwhelms him at what he sees next. His entire house has been burned down, the outline of its frame in black ashes. His chest and throat tighten at the sight of the ruble. His mind unwillingly wonders extremely scary, disturbing thoughts. Are their bodies in -?

And he turns away, not being able to handle it. Any of it. Warm, salty tears wet his lips and he doesn't dare look back at the wreck. Too many memories…

A little up the road, there is orange light glowing down, illuminating most of the block, smoke billowing up from a red brick chimney and over the trees. Haymitch walks over and is not surprised to see Rockwell's house in full use. Something is drawing him to the place. He has no idea why, but for some reason finds himself walking up the clean, stone path and rapping the door with a shaky hand. In less than a minute, a dark skinned woman, most likely Rockwell's wife, appears. At first she seems a bit startled, perhaps not recognizing Haymitch because of his mask of tears. She quickly changes her expression and, despite having never met him before, throws her arms around his shoulders and embraces him tightly in a warm hug, like that of his mother.

'Haymitch!' she says softly in his ear, her voice warm and velvety.

He tolerates her hug without saying a word, only sniffling slightly as she steps back for him to pass, inviting him into her home. The interior is almost identical to that of Haymitch's old house. Spotless and modern, yet with a small touch of something else, something warm that clearly says _this is home._

He inspects the added decorations and notices a framed picture of a strapping, teenage boy standing arm in arm with a slightly younger Rockwell, both carelessly grinning. Haymitch had no idea that his mentor has children.

'Can I get you anything?' asks the woman timidly.

He merely stares at her; the resemblance to his own mother is uncanny. Indeed, with round and warm hazel Seam eyes, frizzy hair in a tight bun that enhances premature wrinkles, and a tattered old dress, she looks tremendously out of place in this sparkling house of such precise perfection. She smiles cordially at him with dark, full lips. He doesn't even try to hide the fact that his eyes are swimming with tears all over again.

Weighty footsteps shuffle from the floor above and in a short moment, heavy, leather boots begin to descend the stair steps. He is soon looking into the narrowed eyes of his trusted mentor, Rockwell Hogget, and allows the man to survey him with his usual, piercing stare. They exchange knowing looks; both should be at the party right now.

'C'mere boy.' His mentor suddenly disregards his usual stiffness and abruptly holds out his long, brawny arms.

Haymitch is completely taken off guard by this act of softness, but finds himself eagerly falling into the sturdy arms of his mentor. And it is as if all of his sorrow, all of the pain, is eased, at least for a moment, with this simple, fatherly hug.

Rockwell's wife, her eyes suddenly red and puffy, takes Haymitch with a warm, tender hand and leads him into the sitting room, where an assortment of delicate furniture awaits. He sits down precariously on a lacy cushion while Rockwell carelessly sets his filthy, mud-soaked boots on an ornate, polished coffee table beside another framed photo of the same smiling teenage boy.

There is an awkward silence, but Haymitch hardly notices.

'Listen boy, if you need a place to stay…' Rockwell trails off uncertainly, looking up at his wife.

She gently places a hand on Haymitch's shoulder. 'You're welcome to call this place home for as long as you want.'

Usually he hates when strange people touch him, but there is something about this woman that does not make him want to shudder or edge away. Warmth spreads through his body at her touch. She has an extremely soothing, motherly aura.

He nods his head slightly. _Thank-you_, he thinks. He does not have enough energy to speak. In fact, he feels as if he never will.

'Haymitch…' Rockwell begins hesitantly. He notes the use of his real name and not the common nickname, 'boy'.

'We know what you're going through, alright? Goddamnit, it hurts me to watch you suffer like this! But you gotta stay strong!'

'No,' says Haymitch suddenly in a slightly raspy voice, speaking for the first time in two days.

'You don't know what it's like.'

'Oh, I don't?' says Rockwell spitefully, rising from his seat, clearly angered. 'Then you tell me what this is!' he spits, grabbing the photo of the teenage boy and shoving it in Haymitch's face.

As Haymitch looks at the picture in greater detail he sees a birth date and –

He gulps. Date of death.

'I – I had no idea…'

Rockwell takes a deep breath and quickly looks down at his feet, obviously trying to hide tears.

'My only son. Dead in the first five minutes.'

First five minutes? That can only mean one thing. Rockwell's son had been chosen as a tribute for the Hunger Games.

'I'm sorry,' says Haymitch quietly, feeling lost for words.

Rockwell sniffles. 'You got a father?'

This question takes Haymitch completely off guard. _Does he have a father?_ Every time he would ask his mother she would always speak most highly of some strange man, but would constantly change her story. _He lives on the other side of the District… He died… He has no idea about you… _

'I… don't know…' he says, dumbfounded.

'Come to think of it, I might've known an Abernathy when I was younger. Don't worry, son. I'll look into it for you,' says Rockwell, straightening up and wiping his eyes.

Is he suggesting that Haymitch is not completely alone? That there is someone out there that could possibly love him as much as his mother, Mel, or Nemit did? No, of course not. No one could ever replace them, not even a father. Especially not a father who has made no attempt of contacting him. At this point in life, _everybody_ knows who Haymitch is because of the Games. Surely if his father is out there, he would know about him by now.

Haymitch is soon put in a spare room for the night.

When he has gotten under the covers of the bed and is about to turn out the light, Rockwell's wife, a woman whose name he has yet to learn, waltzes in.

'Goodnight, Haymitch,' she whispers, tenderly kissing him on the forehead.

This small, simple act is so unexpected, so mother like, it moves him to tears. It is clear that she has been starving to do that for years. To kiss her son goodnight.

And as he lays in the dark, curled under the covers, in a room almost identical to his old one, he realizes that he is not home. While he may be in District Twelve, the place is meaningless to him without the ones he loves most. From then on, Haymitch cries himself to sleep every night.


	27. Haymitch: Flashback of Regrets

Haymitch is fourteen years old.

These past two years of puberty have done him well. He is taller, burlier, and most definitely handsomer than the rest of the boys in his grade. With smoky, dangerous Seam eyes, dark, curly hair, and premature stubble lining his cheeks, most of the girls can't wait to get their hands on him. They easily disregard their parents' constant warnings to stay away from 'the Abernathy boy' ('have you _seen_ the girl he hangs around with?') and, instead, when in his presence, bat their long eyelashes and lightly touch parts of him in flirtatious manners, often giggling at the least funny things.

His alluring charm goes only as far as his looks though, and that's it. Underneath the mask, he has been told by his teachers that he is quite rude and sarcastic. He has also been told by his mother that he is just like his father. Since Haymitch has no idea who is father is, he isn't sure if that's a compliment or not. He supposes that his mother tells him different stories each time he asks about the man to mask the truth. She has no idea who is father is either.

On one blustery, fall afternoon, he rushes through the back door hurriedly, bringing in a gust of wind and crumpled leaves, burning to visit the forest with Nemit. If it weren't for the fact that he needed to drop Melmar off from school, he most definitely would've gone straight to the woods, where she's probably waiting for him right now.

Mel, his cheeks flushed from the cool, breezy air, lightly props himself up on an old, rickety stool and stares aimlessly around the grimy, miniscule kitchen, his eyes wandering for something to put in his empty belly. Something that's not there. Something that is hardly ever there.

'Mitch!' He shouts suddenly just as Haymitch's finger tips brush the dirt specked, brass knob of the door.

'What?' He says without turning to face his brother. This better be important.

'Wanna play cards?'

He groans. That's _it?_

'Yeah. Right.' He says sarcastically.

And he dashes through the door without a backward glance at Mel. Without even caring about the obvious hurt swimming in the boy's eyes.

In his haste to get to the forest, he bumps headlong into his mother halfway down the narrow path that leads from the house.

'Going somewhere?' She chuckles at his rashness, holding him back by the arm.

He looks down at his feet. 'No.' He says innocently. He does not think it would be a good idea if his mother knew that he and –

'You're not sneaking off to see that girl, are you?' She asks suspiciously, her eyes narrowed.

'I'm just apple picking!' He comes up with the lie suddenly. 'I thought I would surprise you.'

'Oh!' Her expression changes to pleasant surprise. 'Well in that case, you better take this.'

She hurries into the house. Haymitch taps his foot impatiently.

She hastily returns, bringing with her an empty wicker container. His mother grins and shoves the basket into his arms. He forces a toothy smile and shaky laugh, even though nothing is too funny at the moment. Great. Now she'll _know_ if he'd been telling the truth. It's almost as if she's playing along on purpose. No matter, he'll just ask Nemit to pick the apples with him when he gets there.

He breathes a sigh of respite as he is finally free to leave. Awkwardly clutching the bin, he runs like lightning towards the forest. His feet pound hard against the uneven ground as the wind whistles painfully in his ears, forcing his eyes to water as it nips at his face.

Within five minutes he is sliding under the District Twelve fence and hurrying through the trees, the leaves rustling against him. A nervous, excited feeling begins to well up inside of him just like it always does right before he sees her. It takes about half an hour before he reaches the pond, the cool breeze disturbing the peacefulness of the water, causing tiny waves and ripples to blow across.

It is chillier here, down by the water, than in the rest of the forest. The gasps of wind ruffle his hair as he waits in silence, narrowed eyes darting around the trees, for her. Finally there is the unmistakable sound of sharply snapping branches and out from the treetops, way above his head, falls Nemit, her cheeks pink from cold and wide eyes, somehow a brighter shade of green than usual, full of liveliness. He gasps in alarm and falls hard against the ground as she smirks and wipes off her muddy hands onto the tattered, grey uniform dress they make them wear at the Community Home.

'Afternoon,' she says casually, walking over to him and offering a hand to help him up.

He glares at her. 'Thanks for that.'

'No problem,' she smiles pleasantly.

For about an hour, the two merely sit by the freezing water, swinging their legs dangerously over the edge, and talking and laughing freely about whatever they want. Nemit gleefully accepts to gather apples with him.

'Maysilee Donner was crying today,' she finally says in a quiet voice. Haymitch, uninterested by this news, is pleasantly surprised when she softly lays her head in his lap. A strange, warm feeling begins to glow inside of him.

'Mh-hm.'

'So I was thinking… Maybe you should ask her to go the annual dance with you?'

'Mh-hm.'

'Wait. What?' He says in disbelief, only realizing what he just agreed to.

'The dance. Take Maysilee to the dance,' she repeats.

Every year, his school has a kind of party for the students. There's music and, of course, the dancing, but the real reason why most people go is because of the food. The majority of children attending are starving half the time so it really is a treat once a year when they get to gorge themselves on cheese, crackers, and fruits. Indeed though, most of the older students take this as an opportunity to show off their relationships. Haymitch hadn't given the thing a thought once before now.

'Why would I do that?' He asks, hardly believing his ears. If anything he should be asking _Nemit_ to go with him, although he blushes at the thought.

'Well for one thing it would make her really happy. Everybody says such horrible things about her. And you know how much she likes you…'

'Trust me; I would only make things worse. Embarrass her.'

'C'mon Haymitch! Please, for me?' Nemit's wide eyes, now in full, bright circles, stare upside-down at him from his lap.

'Yeah, right. Just drop it, okay? Cause it's not happening. I'd just look stupid.'

'What, you're afraid it's gonna ruin your reputation or something?' She snorts.

'Believe me, what little reputation I had was lost when I started hanging out with _you_.'

The moment the words leave his lips, he regrets them. He has no idea what caused him to say that, anyway.

'Sorry,' he says quickly. 'I didn't mean that.'

She rises from her spot on his lap and begins to walk away, not bothering to look back at him.

'Wait!' He calls back desperately.

But she doesn't listen. She leaves him standing there feeling stupid and miserable.


	28. Haymitch: Loving Father

Haymitch doesn't leave the house once in the week to follow. He spends most of his time just lying stiffly on the bed, staring into nothingness, only getting up to briefly use the restroom. He can't eat either. His stomach rumbles painfully with hunger but as soon as the warm scent of the rich, steaming delicacies penetrates his nostrils, he knows that it would not be possible to keep it all down. Sleep is now dreaded. Every time he reluctantly falls into the murky world of the nightmares a new, worse horror awaits him.

Tanya, Rockwell's wife, desperately tries to coax him out of the emotional coma, unsuccessfully tempting him with his favourite foods, humorous stories of her youth, and so on. But it's no use. Haymitch just won't budge. It's as if someone has sucked out his soul, leaving an empty, useless shell behind. He is in a world where there is no emotion. No pain. No happiness. Nothing.

The minutes turn to hours and the hours stretch to days. This means nothing to him as he has completely lost his sense of time. For all he knows, he could've already been in this house for years. He is completely oblivious to the world surrounding him. When visitors make an attempt to speak with him, he is unable to make out anything but the tone, their voices sounding distorted, as if from inside a tube.

At the end of the week, Haymitch receives a visit from Rockwell, someone whom he hasn't seen since his first day here. His mentor slides through a crack in the door, his expression a mix of pity and disappointment, and slowly yet determinedly walks forward, the sound of his soft footsteps echoing through the still room, creaking against the floorboards.

He takes a deep breath. 'Haymitch,' he begins hesitantly.

Haymitch remains silent, making no sign of recognition.

Once again, as the man begins a speech, his seemingly subtle voice is blurred and distant, making it impossible to understand a word.

Within five minutes, (or five hours?), Rockwell is rising out of his seat, ready to leave. But before he goes he places a small slip of paper on Haymitch's lap. Then walks out without looking back, quietly closing the door behind him.

A day later, Haymitch remembers Rockwell's note and decides to read it for no reason at all. It is impossible for him to be feeling curiosity, or any other emotions as complex.

With unsteady hands from sleep deprivation and hunger, he grasps the page, trying to decipher what appears to be a jumble of unfocused, squiggly lines and symbols. His head is pounding too much to even read. He stares intently at the letters for at least an hour, the letters refusing to remain still.

'_16 Prennon Road.'_

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Irritation surges through him and he crumples the paper, just as Tanya backs into the room carrying a tray of piping hot, unknown dishes.

'Oh good! So Rocky told you, did he?' She says cheerfully, eyeing the furrowed note.

He stares blankly at her.

'Oh, so he _hasn't _told you?'

Once again the words are meaningless.

She gently sets the tray at the edge of the bed and snatches up the paper slip.

'Haymitch…' She begins, her voice suddenly tender, her eyes swimming with pity.

'Sixteen Prennon Road… is where your father lives…'

A warm, portentous glow is cast just as the early morning sun peeks over the horizon. Tiny, shimmering beads of dew sprinkle the emerald grass and the cool air is thick with morning fog.

'Good luck, Haymitch,' Tanya hugs him warmly just before he and Rockwell step out the front door.

After much desperate pleading the woman had finally convinced him to get out of bed and take a visit to 16 Prennon Road. He just couldn't refuse; Rockwell had spent the entire week searching for old files and records, interrogating reluctant people. It's not as if he wants to do this though; he isn't sure what he thinks about the idea of a father in his life.

Haymitch and Rockwell silently set out on their journey, which is anticipated to take up the entire day. They walk briskly with only the sound of their forlorn, echoing footsteps to listen to. Neither minds the impenetrable silence though; both men are drowning in their own murky thoughts and the idea of speech seems alien to Haymitch. For hours, they prowl through back alleyways and follow the subtle dent of miner's footprints, dusted with coal, etched into the dirt. Haymitch is completely lost as to where 16 Prennon Road is; it's Rockwell who's doing the navigating. He lets his mentor walk a few paces ahead as he ambles behind, trying to mentally prepare himself for what's to come.

The busy, shop lined streets slowly become less and less, turning to depressing, little huts, the roads more grimy than ever. The wide, grey eyes of numerous, emaciated children follow them everywhere they go. No matter how hard Haymitch tries to ignore, he just can't seem to shake off their piercing stares, their skeletal figures floating in the back of his mind.

As they go further and further into the Seam, Rockwell constantly glances down at the slip of paper as if a map will sprout from the deficient amount of letters. Haymitch questions whether the man has any idea where he's leading them. Finally he heaves a sigh and marches up to a crippled, old woman hunched at the edge of the street, clutching a cane. Her infinite wrinkles tell them that she must be in her eighties or nineties.

'Excuse me, ma'am', Rockwell begins softly.

'But do you know if a Terrance Abernathy lives around here?'

The old woman merely stares intently at them with narrowed, grey eyes, protectively drawing her ragged cloak closer to her frail body. Then her lined face abruptly breaks out into an eerie, toothless grin. She hobbles a step out onto the street, clutching dependently onto the cane and points out over the crumbling rooftops and into the far-off, tree lined horizon. A light trail of grey smoke spirals up from the woods, over the treetops and into the air.

'Thank-you', says Rockwell curtly, pushing a few coins into the woman's rough hand.

They hurriedly head in the direction of the smoke, towards the trees. As they near their destination, Haymitch's heart actually begins to pound. He can also feel butterflies fluttering in his stomach. But why? It's not like he cares. Or does he? He is beginning to feel sick and suddenly wants to turn back, run home. Run past the gaunt faces of the countless starving children and pretend as if he was never here. Get back into bed and stay hidden under the covers forever.

They must be on the other side of District Twelve because the same pathetic looking, wrought iron fence is now towering over them, not bothering to mask the bushels of thick, tree trunks and branches that lie portentously behind it. Just as always, the faint hum of electricity is absent.

One part of the braided iron has a wide hole torn right from the bottom to middle, as if it had been purposely ripped, which, most likely, it had. As they stand there, gaping, they give each other a quick, nervous glance and then awkwardly climb through into the unknown. They immediately land on damp, earthy ground and are surrounded by mossy boulders and thick, sappy trunks, the leaves and branches of the tallest trees casting grey shadows over their heads. Anonymous birds chirp and echo from their every side, flowing through the soft breeze. The scent of sweet pine needles and rustic, burning wood overwhelms them as they trudge through, their footsteps disturbing the peacefulness by heavily snapping against branches upon branches.

Finally they can see it. Up in the distance, obscured by leaves and moss is a tiny, concrete shack, the source of the smoke emitting from a crumbling chimney. As they near it, Haymitch realizes just how small the place is. It must be about one room. It definitely does not have electricity or even plumbing. He recognizes thick, prospering leaves of poison ivy wildly growing around the perimeter. His father lives _here?_

Rockwell purposely avoids Haymitch's gaze as they approach the door, which really is only a few broken pieces of rotting tree bark tied together. Someone has untidily slapped on the number sixteen in faded red paint.

Rockwell raps his knuckles against the wood once. No response but the sound of a far off, hooting dove. He tries again, this time knocking a bit more forcefully. Again, nothing. Haymitch nervously chews his lower lip, feeling as if he may vomit at any moment. There is something welling inside his stomach. Fear? Excitement? He has no idea…

'I think we better just go in…' says Rockwell uncertainly.

He pushes the door open with a creek and Haymitch's stomach churns unpleasantly as the sickening stench of stale liquor besieges them, hitting him so suddenly, like a hard whop in the face. It is so powerful that he now _knows _that he'll throw up sooner or later. He unsuccessfully tries to hold his breath as lightheadedness overwhelms him, turning his cheeks a sea green colour.

Brow furrowed, Rockwell winces once and winkles his nose not only at the impenetrable stink, but also at the filthy, chaotic mess of the place. Countless yellow fish bones, mouse droppings, pieces of jagged, broken glass, and ripped newspapers are scattered around so you can barely make out the floor. But the one item that the majority of the junk consists of is empty alcohol bottles. Hundreds, maybe even _thousands _of them float in the sea of trash, popping up in every nook and cranny.

The broken, glass windows are thickly coated with moist mold and grime, making it almost impossible to see outside. A small, gloomy fire crackles by a nonexistent hearth, the flames dully flickering around the single, charred log. It is not spreading any warmth around the place; if anything it is worse being in here than outside.

Rockwell nudges Haymitch and it takes a moment for him to notice the feral, beer bellied man snoring on top of a soiled sofa, his bushy arm flopping down, brown apple cores and empty, crushed cans of beer scattered around him. His mouth is hanging open slightly causing drool to ooze onto his filthy, unshaven cheek, which is already caked with a sickly, yellow layer of what Haymitch can only assume as aged food and vomit. His chest heavily heaves, causing the piles of trash to slide off of his hairy, exposed stomach.

Rockwell slogs through the repulsive debris and reluctantly yet forcefully shakes the man awake.

He lets out a sudden yelp, jumping high in the air as if an electric shock had just surged through him. Then he stands there in a fighting position with raised fists, blubbering obscenities, looking quite confused and fanatical indeed.

Haymitch gasps at their resemblance, shocked by how similar this wild man really is to him. His eyes, bright and dangerous, mirror Haymitch's exactly while his overall physique and facial features suggest someone quite handsome years before. His hair is an untamed birds' nest while untimely wrinkles imply him to be in his late thirties.

'Ter?' Says Rockwell uncertainly.

The man's scraggly, shoulder length hair whips the air as he shakes his head from side to side like a sopping wet dog. At the sound of Rockwell's voice his eyes finally come across the two men standing before him. He gives a jolt, only realizing his company for the first time.

'Rocky?' He asks in utter disbelief, his eyes widen at the sight of them.

'It's me Ter…'

For a moment, the man's grey eyes reduce to suspicious slits, as if trying to decide if it really is Rockwell.

'Huh. Well, whadya' know. My ol' Rocky finally comes crawling back.' He shrugs and speaks in a harsh, rough voice with a strange, somewhat barbaric accent.

'Can I get you a drink?' He asks, stumbling drunkenly over to a small, hand carved table with an assortment of half empty, glass bottles on top.

'No, no. But thanks…' Replies Rockwell, cagily eyeing the man just as he generously pours himself a dirt-caked glass of foamy, bubbling liquid. He chugs the drink in one gulp, the liquid dribbling down his bristly chin and onto a filthy rag of a shirt. The glass drops from his dirt smudge fingertips and lands in the pile of trash with a dull thud.

'Who the hell is this?' He nods his head in Haymitch's direction.

'This is Haymitch,' says Rockwell, bringing a firm hand to rest on Haymitch's shoulder.

'If I'd know you were comin' I would've cleaned up a bit…'

'No, no. It's fine. Haymitch, just, ah… wanted to see you…'

The man frowns as his eyes narrow and brow furrows. He glances at Haymitch doubtfully.

'Pfft. Nobody's given a rat's ass about me for twenty five years.'

He flops back down onto the sofa and grabs the nearest bottle, slowly raising the liquid to his lips as he eyes both of them warily. Haymitch inspects the room, trying to find something other than garbage lying about. In place where a bed should be is the sofa, beaten and neglected. There are no other seats for guests, no kitchen or bathroom either. In one corner is a wide basket of precariously stacked, grimy dishes piled with gruel, flies noisily buzzing about. The walls are completely bare except for mould and –

There it is. His eyes widen in disbelief as he stares at the thing. No, it cannot be. Perhaps he's hallucinating. It's impossible… _impossible… _And why didn't he know about this before? There, mounted innocently in the centre of the wall, right next to the dirt streaked window, is a framed diploma, exactly like the one Haymitch just received a few months ago.

'_Terrance Abernathy – Victor of the 27__th__ Annual Hunger Games.'_

'You were a Victor?' He asks in shock, his voice much wheezier than usual.

'That's right, boy. First one in all of District Twelve.' He grins nastily, bearing repulsively yellow teeth.

His mind is blank as his eyes zoom back and forth from the award to this hideous man. No. It just can't be. There are so many implications. Why didn't anybody ever tell him? Rockwell? His mother? Being this man's son, he should've gotten much more recognition and fame than any other Victor out there… Surely the Capitol would've remembered the name Abernathy!

'But… what happened?' His mouth suddenly feels extremely dry.

The man stares at him thoughtfully. 'I… couldn't deal with it. Hated being Victor. Hated my family. Hated my life. So I ran away.'

He waves his hand in a doubtful manner. 'Ahh, but what do you know?'

He noisily hulks back saliva deep in his throat and spits into the heaps of trash.

'Is that what you did to_ her_? Ran away because you couldn't deal with it? Too much of a coward to deal with your own kids?' He asks through gritted teeth. His voice is rapidly beginning to rise as deep fury courses through his veins. He clenches shaky fists at his sides.

'How do you know about -? '

'Oh yeah! I know all about how you left her with nothing!' Suddenly he feels nothing but hate towards this man. Anger surges through him as he stares into those bloodshot, empty grey pupils with spite and disgust.

'Hey! I don't know what the hell your problem is but I had no choice! It was her fault for getting knocked up! I wasn't ready to be a - '

And then Haymitch can't contain it any longer. He lunges forward and tightly grips his fingers around the man's hefty throat, trying to squeeze the life out of him. Trying to hurt him in every possible way.

'What the hell are you doing?'

He had obviously taken him by surprise. He punches and kicks every part of him that he can lay his hands on, wanting to hurt him in every way possible. Finally, Rockwell grabs Haymitch by the waist and forcefully pulls him off, flinging both of them to the ground.

'YOU NEVER CARED, DID YOU? NEVER GAVE A DAMN ABOUT US!' He shakes with rage as tears stream down his face. No, he mustn't cry. Mustn't be weak.

'WELL I DON'T CARE EITHER!' And then he breaks out into full on, uncontrollable sobs, not even caring anymore. Never caring.

'C'mon, Haymitch. Let's get out of here.' Rockwell gets a firm grasp on his arm and pulls him up.

He steers him through the room, hustling him out as quickly as possible, without permitting Haymitch to give his father one last look.


	29. Haymitch: Forgotten Flashback

Haymitch is three years old.

'Please! Please! Don't go!'

The hysterical sobs of his mother ring out into darkness of the night. Her belly swollen to an abnormal size, tears streaming down her face, she trudges into the freezing cold and watches a burly figure scurry down the gravel path, kicking wads of snow in frustration as they go.

Haymitch waddles up behind his mother and clutches one of her legs, his head poking out from the doorstep cautiously. He isn't really paying much attention to what's going on. The snow outside is dancing passively and he takes pleasure in watching it fall dreamily from the sky.

'No! No! Come back!'

His mother flees to the kitchen, not bothering to close the door, and collapses onto a carved, wooden chair. Her head buried between her arms, she begins to weep uncontrollably, taking in heaving gasps of air between sobs.

Haymitch just doesn't understand why she's so upset though.

'See ya, bud. I'll be back before you know it.' His father had ruffled his hair reassuringly before heading out the front door with a sack of belongings.

'Don't cry,' Haymitch says calmly. His mother does not hear him through her weeping though. She quivers in her spot and refuses to show her face.

Finally her sobs turn to feeble snivels and pitiful hiccups, then to deep, rhythmic breaths. He curls up on the floor and watches the night turn to morning, the sun slowly rising, casting out the darkness, the falling snow settling on the ground at last, forming great, white walls.

Years later, Haymitch has somehow managed to forget that night.


	30. Haymitch: Cut

Where is Haymitch to go? Home no longer exists. Family no longer exists. How is it that his world has so suddenly crashed down on him?

He abruptly moves from his position on the bed, his stiff muscles aching as they stretch out for the first time in a while. With only one thought pounding in his mind, pulsing through his veins, he yanks open the nightstand and frantically searches through the jumble of contents. And there, hidden at the back of the drawer is what he desires most at this moment. What will temporarily make him feel better, relieve him from this world. He grabs the knife and positions himself back onto the bed.

Held by a trembling hand, the blade slashes through his shirt fabric and into his left wrist. Immediately, he feels not quite better, but a sort of sense of relief. Strangely, he relishes the way the beads of dark blood trickle down from the raw marks and onto his clean arm, dripping as if in slow-motion onto the satin sheets. The window is wide open and the curtains billow wildly in the brisk night wind which unpleasantly nips at the cuts. Moonlight streams through and illuminates the marks as wells as the droplets of thick, dark blood dribbling down from them.

He continues to make the gashes in his arm for several minutes, not stopping for the burning sensation that immediately follows, biting his lower lip in both pain and pleasure. The soreness feels good, makes him feel in control, at least for now. Finally, when he's had enough, he places the bloodstained knife back amongst the possessions of the drawer and then examines his fiery raw flesh, savoring the damage he has done to himself.

At the touch of his right hand's finger tips, the spot stings uncontrollably, but he continues to press down on it harder and harder, allowing himself to let out several sharp gasps of pain. His hand soon tinges a dull red from the drying blood and he grins manically at the sight.

Sooner than later, he drifts into an uneasy sleep filled with nightmares of himself slashing Melmar, his mother, and Nemit with the knife, ignoring their screams just as he did when they really were murdered.


	31. Haymitch: The First Drink

He has no idea why he is doing this. It's actually quite bizarre. He really doesn't understand the reason. But something is drawing Haymitch back to that shack in the woods, back to _16 Prennon Road_.

Does he actually care for that repugnant, drunken man? Is there some kind of subconscious, emotional bond? He quickly rules that possibility out of his mind; hate surges through him every time he even thinks of his father. It's evident that their first meeting had been a disaster. Immediately after, Haymitch fell back into his emotional coma, withdrawing from the world, his head throbbing too hard to even falter on his own miseries. There are just too many questions. Too many bad memories. But now he's had some time, he supposes that he's ready to get some answers. But if only there was a way around all this pain. All this hurt. More than anything, he longs to find a way out. A way to escape.

Indeed though, he is quite surprised to find himself sneaking out of Rockwell's front door in the dead of night, exactly a week after that horrible day. He's not too sure how his mentor would feel about him going back there.

The night sky is scattered with thousands of tiny stars, all shimmering their light on the paths he skulks down. Mysterious, dark clouds are unable to mask the luminous glow of the crescent moon hanging ominously over the sky.

The Seam is dead quiet; Haymitch is forced to tiptoe past the frail bodies of the numerous emaciated children leaning against each other, their chests heaving in uneasy sleep. They resemble nothing more than mere skeletons dipped in pale moonlight.

And too suddenly, he is standing outside the edge of the District Twelve fence, staring into the pitch black nothingness that is the forest. The woods are much more daunting during the night and with only the moon and stars as guides Haymitch feels as if he's being watched by omnipresent eyes. The lonely hoot of an owl disrupts the unnerving quietness. The slightest break of a tree branch or rustle of leaves forces him to jump a foot in the air. And for a moment, he actually believes that he's back in the Games. Back where the Careers are constantly hunting him. Back where the squirrels and birds will tear away at your flesh the first chance they get. _Anything_ could be lurking in the shadows…

He must admit that he's slightly thankful at the sight of the cement cabin. A dull orange glow emits from the dirt smeared windows while wispy smoke spirals from the collapsing chimney. This time, he doesn't bother to knock on the rotted door, but marches right inside.

Once again, his stomach tosses and turns as the acrid stench of white liquor hits him hard and unexpected, causing him to experience sudden nausea and lightheadedness. Placed in the centre of the wall is a fire softly crackling, emitting an eerie glow throughout the room that casts great, dark shadows on the beaten furniture. That same savage man is hunched over on the stained, overstuffed couch sipping a half empty bottle of alcohol, looking more barbaric than ever. His long, scraggly hair obscures his eyes with several greasy strands. His face is splotched red from the drink.

His head shoots up at the creak of the door, alarm clearing flashing through those dull grey, bloodshot eyes. His hand automatically reaches for a nearby kitchen knife.

The intensity of his fear lessens when he realizes who it is, but that doesn't stop him from staring absorbedly at Haymitch for a few moments, as if trying to access a secret hidden deep inside, the reason for his intrusion.

Then, a rough grin breaks across his face. 'I knew you'd be back.'

Haymitch remains silent and slowly walks up to the man, his eyes narrowed as he stares through the pupils of those lifeless eyes, dancing flames mirrored dangerously across them.

'I want to know what really happened,' Haymitch growls slowly, his fists clenched at his sides.

'The Games happened,' he laughs, cruel and hard.

'Sit down. Make yourself at home,' he says in a dangerous voice, bearing sickly yellow teeth, and pointing at a wooden stool, hidden by empty liquor bottles and garbage, that Haymitch never noticed before.

'Can I get you a drink?'

He stares at the man incredulously, trying to figure out what could possibly be going on through his head. No, truly, they cannot be related. His eyes linger on his father's wretched figure, an excessive amount of belly hanging over his belt, while he slowly raises a bottle to his lips with thick, grimy fingers. There must be some sort of mistake. Hurt and anger hit him suddenly as he realizes his words. _I was the mistake_, he thinks to himself bitterly.

'I know what you're thinking,' the man says, still grinning nastily.

'But let me tell you something before you judge.' His voice suddenly becomes cold and harsh. 'Being in the arena… it does things to you… _changes_ you. Sooner or later you realize that happy endings… _fairytales…_ don't exist. They've never existed.'

'Ah, but what do you know?' He shrugs, waving his hand doubtfully in Haymitch's direction.

And as Haymitch sinks down onto the rickety stool, carefully avoiding what suspiciously looks like a pile of aged vomit, something stirs inside of him, deep in his chest. Is it anger? Pity? Regret?

'I know a lot more than you think,' he says quietly.

He doesn't know what just came over him. He can't ignore, can't forget… something. This man - _his father_, he corrects himself forcedly - is just so… pathetic. But the thing is that there's a nagging feeling burrowed itself inside of him saying, _you're going to end up just like this. _And the worst part is that that statement is actually very possible. Indeed, both men are Victor's of the Hunger Games and, clearly, neither is enjoying it too much. Both are desperately trying to block out, to run away from the horrible memories that torment them day and night, that threaten to drive them into insanity. But this man refuses to live in the Victor's Village, where he would probably be a lot more comfortable. He cuts himself off from the rest of society. Drinks away his sorrows. And is practically dead to all of Panem.

'Here, boy,' he grunts, shoving a sopping wet bottle into Haymitch's arms.

Haymitch's eyes flicker quizzically from the drink to this drunken man in front of him. While it isn't uncommon for Victors to waste away with morphine or drink, it just seems so pitiful that this is what his father has resorted too. Does it really drown out all the bad memories? Make you forget? He can tell that this man lives in a strange, demented world, almost never visiting reality. But is this what Haymitch wants?

With an unsteady hand, he slowly raises the bottle to his lips. The lukewarm liquid has no effect as it wets his dry tongue. The foaming bubbles taste bitter as they fizz around his mouth. The liquor burns like fire as it passes down his throat and he can feel it heating his stomach long after, bubbling around strangely. This sensation is unlike anything he has ever experienced and, with droplets of wet flavor still fresh on his lips, it would be impossible to refuse more.

'Like that, eh?' says his father, observing him with a smirk. 'You know, I used to be like you once too. Strong, attractive, my head always up in the damn clouds.'

He takes a pause to gulp down some more liquor, exhaling noisily and then dabbing his lips with his tongue, trying to catch every tiny, glistening bead.

'Was about your age when I got called for the Games, too. Five years later I punched out my first kid. By the second one I decided to hit the road.'

Haymitch's figure stiffens in the firelight.

'They think I'm dead, you know. Lucky too. If it weren't for that I'd have to be all the way back there. With some kids and woman and remembering everything about - '

'The Games?' Haymitch finishes for him.

'Yeah.'

'But they'd be over. You'd never have to go in the arena again. So why not have stayed?' he asks angrily.

'Puh. They're never over. You know what happens after you win? They make you mentor kids. Kids who you know are gonna die no matter what you do. No matter how hard you try. There's only so much of that someone can take.'

The sorrow in his eyes is so undeniable, so genuine that Haymitch can't help but feel a part of his hate be replaced with a twinge of pity. That pity is also for himself though too. He had completely forgotten about mentoring children. That means that every year he must go back, go and revisit that place, think of the revolting memories that are associated with it. And it is now that he realizes that he will never truly forget the Games. Because no matter what he'll do, no matter how hard he'll try, they'll always find away to make the horrors fresh in his mind. Watch innocent children be murdered. Celebrate their deaths. Crown the killer.

And suddenly he is so ashamed with himself for being Victor, for taking part in the Hunger Games. His life seems so disgusting, so pointless that he doesn't want to live anymore. His emotions skyrocket as he downs his drink in one gulp.

His father's harsh laughter rings out into the silence.

'That's my boy!'


	32. Haymitch: A Call to the Capitol

_Dear Mr. Abernathy,_

_I regretted to hear of the passing of your loved ones. I send to you my condolences during this troubled time._

_Cordially,_

_President Coriolanus Snow_

Haymitch crumples the neat, handwritten note as fresh fury surges through him. Enclosed with the letter is an innocent looking, white rose, reeking with an overwhelming chemical fragrance that makes his eyes water. The note by itself is snide. But paired with that rose, it is much more meaningful. A dangerous reminder.

The news of his family's deaths is now apparent to the rest of Panem. Somehow word got out and, although the details are fuzzy, everybody knows that the 'accident' that killed them is all a cover up for what really happened.

It doesn't make any difference if people know, in Haymitch's opinion. They stare into him with mournful eyes but he no longer cares about what others think. No longer cares about anything, in fact. Since he discovered the secret weapon to forgetting – alcohol – things have become much more bearable. It has only been a few days since the last encounter with his father, but he's caught on quite quickly. Drinking subdues the nightmares that plague him day and night, and allows him to forget reality and enter a world where the only thing he must focus on is a pounding headache. His evenings are spent by drinking, his nights drunk, and by morning the hangover rolls in. It's a routine that no one but him approves of, especially Rockwell's wife Tanya, but he is no longer her concern. He couldn't bear to stay with Rockwell any longer, so he chose the house farthest from the reminiscent pile of ashes that once was is home and claimed it as his own.

The only time he ventures forth into society is when the liquor runs short, which is a situation he tries to avoid. Mirrors are objects he avoids completely and eating is entirely out of the question. His mind has become a blur of complex thoughts mashed to simple emotions, creating one big storm cloud that hammers over his head constantly.

Earlier that day, Dolly Lomberson – someone who he had not spoken to since the Victory Tour - telephoned his house with 'important' news.

'Mitchy, doll...' She purrs. 'Time to pack your bags...'

Apparently, a train is waiting for him at the District Twelve station. He is to bring few possessions and prepare for a visit to the Capitol. Why? He has no idea, nor does he really care. Snow no longer scares him, in fact, he finds himself plotting ways to kill the man upon their next meeting.

At first, he had his heart set upon not showing up for this expedition, but Rockwell highly disapproves of that plan.

'You may not care about your life anymore, but think about me. They already took away my son, don't let them hurt my wife.'

Refusing the invitation would mean putting Rockwell and Tanya in danger so he grudgingly decides to go. Unsure of how he is to arrive, he waits expectantly in the front hall at the appointed time. He had actually showered for the occasion, something that seemed outrageous to him earlier this morning. His throbbing head causes his vision to be slightly blurred and his stomach bubbles unpleasantly from the hangover that now constantly haunts him.

Finally, the doorbell rings, the chiming bell causing his head to spin, and in walks his stylist, Alenia. She greets him with a shy smile and, after an awkward hello, leads him to a dark car with tinted windows. Her eyes purposely avert away from his the entire ride there, though he hardly notices. His mind is now preoccupied with the reason why he has been called to the Capitol. Besides the act of defiance in the arena, he has done nothing wrong. Nothing to cause trouble. Or has he?

There is a divine feast laid out on a crisp, white clothed table in the train, but the thought of all those rich, creamy delicacies makes him want to hurl. He settles for a crust of bread and trudges to his room, where he flops to the bed with a blank expression, absentmindedly nibbling on a few crumbs. Is he supposed to stay sober for the Capitol? More than anything he craves a good drink…

An uneasy sleep, filled with the same old nightmares, finally engulfs him. The horror highlights of the Games are back, Nemit's throat has been pecked raw by the fluffy, pink birds, and his screaming newborn baby burns while his old home from the Seam is set up into monstrous flames. He wakes with a start, panting hard and dripping sweat, President Snow's maniacal laughter ringing in his ear.

The next morning Haymitch opens his eyes to find himself engulfed by colourful feathers and shining, bold jewels. Somewhere, hidden between the elaborateness he finds the three pairs of bulging eyes that belong to his prep team, staring at him as if he's a ferocious monster that could tear their throats out at any moment.

For the next hour or so, the three toss him between them, painfully improving his looks for unknown events. It is more as if they are playing dress up with merely a ragdoll, though. His emotions cease to exist; only a hollow, lifeless shell has been left behind.

The events that follow are a blur. He is shoved from the train and jostled into a car with tinted windows by one of the Capitol train attendants. There are no cameras, no reporters, and no flashing lights waiting for him this time. No crowds, no screaming girls, and no security precautions. By the looks of things, none of the Capitol citizens were informed of his arrival.

Perhaps the President is going to execute him right now? Maybe he'll be sent into the arena again? They pull up in front of Snow's mansion and he is ordered out of the car. As he steps out into the rose bush laden front lawn, he feels absolutely dazed as to how he suddenly got to this place. Dull grey storm clouds billow around the sky, casting a supremely depressing look on the entire city.

A harsh looking woman in a white uniform ushers him into the President's monstrosity of a home with a stone cold expression painted across her face. She leads him through the halls in silence, the echo of their brisk footsteps sounding ominous, the feeling of omnipresent eyes growing stronger and stronger. Finally they reach a familiar and rather grand, polished oak door.

Haymitch sighs, knowing the routine. He prepares himself for the dreadful news that can only be associated with what lies behind this door.


	33. Haymitch: The Proposition

The unpleasantly familiar stench of chemical perfumes and – is it blood? – hits Haymitch like a brick wall. His throat burns yet he pursues through the dangerously pristine room with unfaltering footsteps. Nothing has changed since his last visit; the mahogany floors are shining, hundreds of untouched books line the walls, and the same enormous, roaring fire is centered in front of two plush armchairs. The table that he had smashed on the last occasion has been replaced, as well has the single, white rose sitting in a delicate crystal vase.

Knowing what to expect, this time he barely even flinches as President Snow's snake like eyes suddenly pierce him. As usual, the man sits safely in his arm chair, the ends of his puffy, blood red lips curled upwards in a venomous grin, bearing fang like teeth. For a moment the two merely bore into each other's eyes, Haymitch determined to withhold an unfaltering gaze, the hate clearly pulsing through him.

'Come closer.' The President hisses like a snake ready for the kill, barely moving his lips as he speaks.

Haymitch merely stands straighter, his feet glued to the floor, his cheeks burning red with spite.

'I see how this is going to be,' says Snow softly, cocking his head to one side.

_Bring it on_, thinks Haymitch. _I'm not scared of you._

Snow rises from his seat and slowly takes a few echoing footsteps towards him.

'Well Haymitch, all I have to say is you're not making things any better for yourself. Quite the opposite, in fact. But be that as it may, you were brought here today to carry out a mandatory task.'

Haymitch stiffens and watches Snow with wary eyes, tightly clenching his fists to his sides as the man advances on him.

'I've made a proposition with numerous – ahem – _women. _You see, they have paid their fortunes in return for your company.'

Snow is now dangerously close to Haymitch. He tries not to show emotion, even though he doesn't quite understand this 'proposition'. Women? His company? But wouldn't that mean –?

'No. I won't do it.' His voice is hoarse yet determined.

'Ah. I thought you'd react this way,' sighs Snow with fake weariness. He takes a small step closer, causing the two to be less than an inch apart, noses almost touching. The sickly sweet scent of roses is now completely unbearable. Hate radiates off of Haymitch and fills the air with a tense atmosphere. 'That being said, you really should be getting back home. Your mentor is probably getting anxious.'

The sentence is simple yet deadly. Haymitch knows right away. It is a threat. He remains silent, not allowing his alarm to show.

'That's a boy,' muses Snow quietly, taking the silence as a good sign.

For a moment, the two merely stare at each other, the only sound emitting from the ominously crackling fire. The reflected flames waver dangerously in the President's black eyes, enhancing the snake like quality.

'I knew you'd turn out this way.' Snow says without a movement from his lips. He chuckles softly. 'Like father like son, eh Haymitch?'

* * *

><p>He is escorted through the halls of the mansion once more. As he walks, the Peacekeeper keeping a few paces ahead, he reminisces about the conversation that just took place. <em>Where am I going now? To die? To be tortured? <em>At this point he welcomes death, though he must follow through with Snow's orders to keep Rockwell and Tanya safe. Needless to say, he doesn't like it. Doesn't like the threat the President can always hold over his head.

He follows the Peacekeeper like a dog, knowing not where he will end up nor thinking about the possible destination. Finally, a mahogany door appears in front of him. He supposes that he is expected to enter. His fingertips reach the brass knob and he lightly pushes the door open, revealing a majestic bedroom draped in satin and silk.

'I've been expecting you, Haymitch.'

It is the lusting voice of his escort, Dolly Lomberson.


End file.
